


I'll Wait Here For You (In My Time Of Dying)

by Emily_F6



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Mentions of Attempted Suicide, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: When Peter woke up, it didn’t feel right.  Didn’t feel like waking up.  It felt like...well, it felt wrong.  Wrong in a way he couldn’t quite explain.orOn Friday, September 10th at 8:32pm, Peter Parker walked into the Avengers tower.Steve Rogers found his body nearly three hours later.But Tony knows that something isn't right.(Irondad Bing Prompt: Mind Control)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 242
Kudos: 797





	1. Time of Dying

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is (loosely) based on the episode of Supernatural, Time of Dying). It mentions an attempted suicide, but nothing graphic.

_ September 16th, 6:02 pm _

When Peter woke up, it didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like waking up. It felt like...well, it felt wrong. Wrong in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He wasn’t sick...didn’t feel any pain. And that in itself was strange because he recognized this place. It was the medbay. And he only woke up in the medbay after something bad happened. But he wasn’t hurt...at least, he didn’t think he was. And he didn’t feel that weird floaty fleeting like he was on the good pain meds.

Pain meds. That...that struck a chord. Had he been taking pain meds? No...because he would have been hurt. Right? Helen sometimes gave him little orange bottles with his special pain meds, covered in warning labels so May never accidentally took them. And he was always careful to only take one. Always. Because Helen has warned him a thousand times, and she’s warned Tony and she’d warned May. 

But he didn’t have pain meds. Because he hadn’t been hurt. He was strangely sure of that. That had been important for some reason. Right? He hadn’t had any pain pills at his house. Any time Cho gave him pain meds, she gave him exactly as many as he’d need. And he took them with food, never less than six hours apart. And they were always kept in his room at home because no one else could take them. 

In fact, the last thing he remembered was being at his apartment after school. There had been Decathlon practice and then...then he’d gone straight home. Right? He’d gone home because he was going to surprise May. She’d been working so much lately, so he’d saved some of his allowance and had planned on taking her to her favorite Thai place. He hadn’t told anyone...too superstitious that she’d figure it out even if he only told Ned. So he’d gone straight home after practice. And then he’d...gone out as Spider-Man?

Had he? 

No...no, Peter didn’t remember going out as Spider-Man. He remembered walking into his apartment. He remembered going up the stairs that had been such a pain back when he’d had asthma but now were no big deal. He remembered grabbing a snack from the kitchen and sitting at his desk to work. But he didn’t remember dinner. And he didn’t remember Spider-Man. Or...or maybe he hadn’t gone out. Because May wasn’t scheduled to arrive home until 8. But...but why hadn’t he gone out after he’d finished his homework? Surely he would have had time. Had he been worried that he wouldn’t make it home in time for dinner?

Peter had a routine. On Fridays he went out as Spider-Man and on Saturdays he hung out with May or Ned and on Sundays he went to the tower for Avengers training, despite the fact that he wasn’t an Avenger. Despite the fact that he still wasn’t sure if he trusted Captain America, who had moved back into the tower. Despite the fact that things were still rocky with the former ‘rogue Avengers.’ But he was at the tower now, in the medbay, and he didn’t know why.

Sitting up on the bed, he threw his legs over the side and stretched, not feeling the usual satisfaction from the motion. Instead his body felt...disconnected. Strange. Far away. Which was weird. Maybe he was on pain meds. He’d never felt like this before...like he wasn’t quite...tethered. 

There was no one else in his hospital room. No Helen there to reassure him that everything was fine, that he’d be back to normal soon. No Tony to scold him for being reckless then to sneak him ice cream and act like he just so happened to be working in the chair right by Peter’s side until he could leave the tower and go home. No May to touch his hair and kiss his cheek and tell him he had to be more careful. And that, too, was strange. He never woke up alone in the medbay.

Instead, there was something like silence. Only the muted humming of machines could be heard, but he didn’t look at them. Didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want to look at the bed where he’d woken or the machines doing jobs he didn’t want to understand. He wanted to find Mr. Stark. Some part of him wanted out of this room. Out of the medbay. So, he decided, he’d leave. He’d find Mr. Stark who was surely nearby and he would ask the man what had happened, and Mr. Stark would put an arm around him and explain that he’d been hurt somehow, or sick, or whatever, and then he’d lead Peter to the sofa or to his room upstairs in the penthouse and they’d watch a movie or something until Peter fell asleep.

Maybe Steve would join them. Or Sam. Or Rhodey if he was in town. Maybe it would be like a movie night, and all of the Avengers would get alone. And Steve and Mr. Stark would get along and there would be no little barbs or spats between them, and maybe they’d even be friends. And Peter wouldn’t feel so bad about wanting to get to know the rest of the Avengers...the people who had been his heroes for so long. 

Peter placed his feet on the floor and stood carefully, not wanting to fall over. His brain felt as strange as his body; it was floaty and scattered, and he couldn’t quite focus. Still. He moved over to the door which was partially ajar, and slipped out of the room, feeling his chest tighten a little as he did so. Some part of him wanted to get back in bed. To lay down. Because it felt like that was where he was supposed to be. Like he wasn’t really allowed out of bed. But no one had told him that. In fact, no one was even there to tell him that. And that was weird. So he walked.

The hallway was quiet, and it took him a moment to spot Steve Rogers at the end of the hall, sitting in a chair, his head resting in his hands. He hadn’t talked to Steve much, even if they’d trained together more than once. He’d never really had much of a conversation with the man who had betrayed his mentor, and he didn’t want to start now. Even if the man was sitting a few doors down from his hospital room. And yeah, he knew that things were more complicated than that. And he understood that things with the Accords had been hard, and even after studying the issue, he still didn’t know which side was better. Not really. But Mr. Stark was important to him...had become one of the most important people in his life. 

So it was kind of strange to have Steve Rogers staying at the tower. And kind of strange for him to be sitting outside of Peter’s hospital room. But still...Peter wanted to find Mr. Stark. It was all he could seem to focus on. So he turned away from Steve and moved quietly in the other direction. Surely Mr. Stark would see him on the cameras. The man had a sixth sense for knowing when Peter was doing something he shouldn’t. But Friday never even bothered to tell the man when Peter entered the building anymore since he stopped by fairly regularly and always managed to seek out Mr. Stark on his own. 

Peter paused at that thought. It felt important. Friday didn’t tell Mr. Stark when he was in the building. He ran the words through his strange, floaty brain and came up with nothing but a little warning ping. Why was that important? Mr. Stark had told him about that change to Friday’s programming weeks ago. And he’d also told Peter that he was always welcome. That he could stay over if he needed to sleep off an injury or come by if he needed dinner or to talk. All of this had been said in the lab with a casualness that hadn’t fooled Peter. Still, he’d played along like it was no big deal. Like Tony extended this privilege to everyone.

Peter headed toward the elevator, figuring Mr. Stark could shed some light on things. He didn’t feel injured...so maybe he’d been sick? That would have been strange, but not unheard of. He’d been sick a handful of times after the spider bite, but never anything more than a cold. Maybe something big had finally come along and taken him out of commission for a while. 

How long had he been in the medbay? He looked around at the empty hallways and paused at the elevator, frowning when there was a strange, tugging pain in his chest that had him leaning against the wall. That was new. Straightening, he started to call out to Friday when the elevator doors opened, and Sam Wilson stepped out. 

Peter straightened, not wanting to be caught showing any symptoms that could get him sent back to bed, at least not before he could see Mr. Stark. Out of all the rogue Avengers, he liked Sam the best. The guy was funny and snarky and was always nice to Peter. So he figured the man might not force him back to his room. And maybe he’d be able to tell him what was going on.

“Hey, Sam. Where’s Mr…..Stark?” Peter asked, the words trailing off as the man walked right past him, never making eye contact. “Sam?” The man kept going, and, mission forgotten, Peter turned to follow him with a frown. As he headed back in the direction of his room, he felt the tugging pain in his chest start to loosen. “Sam!” he called again, practically jogging after the man who didn’t so much as glance at him.

He did pause at Peter’s room though, turning and looking at the partially open door with a clenched jaw. For a moment, Peter thought he was going to go in. Instead, the man kept walking and headed over to where Steve Rogers still sat. He hadn’t moved, head still resting in his hands, and Sam dropped into a chair beside him. 

“On your left,” he told the other man with a sad smile, and Peter crossed his arms, wondering what he’d done to make Sam ignore him like this. 

Steve shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Keep you company?”

“Fuck off, Sam.” Steve’s voice was rough. Almost tearful. Peter dropped his arms and took another step. That was...strange.

“Come on, man. It’s been six days. You can’t…”

“If I had just…”

“Steve, you can’t…” Sam interrupted again.

“If I had just kept them somewhere else! Or...or locked my door!”

“Steve, you know the kid. That wouldn’t have stopped him. Hell, Tony’s doing the same thing...trying to figure out what he did wrong. But it wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t yours either.”

“If I’d gone to my room earlier...if I hadn’t been having that stupid fight with Tony…”

“None of us saw it coming, okay? Tony spent hours with him every week and even he didn’t notice. Hell, his aunt said he was fine! Normal! His friends too! No one knew this would happen.” 

The two men were silent for a moment, and Peter felt his stomach clench with nerves. Something was wrong. Something big. He was the kid...what had he done? Why did Steve think this was his fault, whatever ‘this’ was? “Steve?” he asked, moving closer until he was right in front of them. “Sam? What’s going on?” When they didn’t so much as look at him, he reached out, resting a hand right over Steve’s shoulder.

But he couldn’t touch him.

That’s when his chest started to hurt. Pressing a hand to his heart, Peter felt his voice break, but he kept talking. “Sam? Steve? Please, I don’t know what’s going on! Please...just...tell me what happened!” 

Something was wrong. Something big. Something bad.

That’s when the alarm went off. Peter gasped, pressing his hand even harder against his chest as it gave a stab of pain, and Steve jumped to his feet, freezing there as the three of them watched a nurse race into Peter’s hospital room.

What was she doing? Where was the alarm coming from? Why wouldn’t anyone look at him?

“Steve…he still might…”

“It’s been almost a week.” Steve’s voice was flat. Dead. “You heard what Helen said...we don’t even know how long…”. The man shook his head and, with a heart pounding so quickly it hurt, Peter turned, walking slowly towards his hospital room. 

_ Why was a nurse in there? What was causing an alarm? Did they know he was out of bed? That had to be it, right? _

The door had been thrown open, and a second nurse brushed past him...no…not past him, Peter realized. She hadn’t swerved around him. 

The two nurses stood by the bed, one with a needle, the other messing with a machine. And then Peter let himself look...he let himself look at the machines, and at the tubes and wires. He let himself look at the breathing tube and the feeding tube. He let himself look at the body in the bed, mostly covered by a blanket.

He let himself look into his own face. 

His features were lax, a breathing tube taped to his open mouth, another tube disappearing into his nose. He was pale. Too pale. Needles disappeared into his inner arms and another tube ran under the blanket but all he could see was his face. His slack face, never moving, as the nurses moved around him. And Peter...was he even Peter? He had to be...right? He was Peter! But...but Peter was in the bed! Peter took a step back, then another and another until his back hit the wall, sliding down to the floor, knees coming up to his chest as he gasped for air.

What the hell was going on?


	2. Problem Solving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your amazing response to this story! I hope you enjoy chapter 2 :)

_September 16th, 6:31pm_

Tony Stark rested his hands on his workroom table, eyes staring unseeing down at the blank space usually filled with paperwork and schematics and screens. Sometimes Peter's stuff would migrate onto his table somehow. He already knew what Peter's workstation looked like. Cluttered. Organized chaos. The boy could walk over to the piles of spare parts and papers covered in formulas scribbled during his chemistry class, and immediately pick out the one thing he needed. Every time.

But not now.

And Tony needed to know why.

Before he could open his mouth though, there was a banging at the door of his lab. And like an idiot, for just a second, he hoped. He felt his heart lighten, and he turned toward the glass door anxiously. As if Peter would ever knock. As if the kid didn't just walk into the lab, sometimes with enough takeout for both of them, other times with his stomach audibly growling. And on those days, Tony would roll his eyes and put a hand on the kid's shoulder, wheeling him around and leading him right back into the elevator, then to the kitchen where he'd make dinner. Sometimes spaghetti. Chicken. Pork chops. Whatever recipes he could remember from Jarvis or look up through Friday.

It wasn't Peter standing at the door to his lap, rapping his knuckles against the glass though. It was Sam Wilson.

Tony sighed, making a quick gesture so that Friday would unlock the door. He knew that if he ignored Sam, the man would just keep knocking. Besides, it wasn't like Tony was getting any work done. It wasn't like he wanted to get any work done. He just...he wanted to know why. Needed to know what he'd missed. What he hadn't seen.

"Tell me you're not watching it again," Sam asked, but his voice was more resigned than reprimanding.

"I need to figure out why."

"Tony…"

"Why are you here?" He didn't mean to be cruel. Didn't want to snap at the guy who had been acting as his go-between, checking on Peter every few hours when Tony couldn't bear to. When May had to be at work. Helen had told May to go back to work after two days. Had told her that…

Tony didn't want to think about what she'd told her.

Sam had been checking on Peter. Had been checking in with Helen. And even though Tony could get all of these updates through Friday, he still appreciated it. Still almost looked forward to seeing another person every day. Because he'd spent almost every second of the last few days in his lab. Watching the footage over and over. Making notes. Zooming in. Coming up with theories. Questioning May and Ned and MJ until none of them wanted to talk to him anymore.

Depression was hard. It was complex. It could hide in plain sight.

But Peter hadn't been depressed. He hadn't. And no matter how many times Tony said it, everyone just looked at him with pity or frustration or resignation.

"His heart stopped."

Tony felt as though his own heart had stopped, but Sam went out before he could really freak out. "They got it beating again. He's stable for now."

Tony didn't ask any questions. Didn't dare ask about brain function or any signs of waking. He'd been disappointed too many times over the last five days. He couldn't bear it anymore.

"Steve...he's sitting with him. Well...he's sitting in the hallway."

He nodded. That was good. Not that Steve was obliged. It wasn't Steve's fault. Steve didn't love the kid, not like Tony. Steve hadn't practically become a father figure to the boy. Steve didn't know him...not really. Didn't know that he loved Star Wars and Star Trek, and didn't know that Thai food was his favorite. Steve didn't know that Peter liked to snack while he worked, and that Tony was constantly making sure that he wasn't accidentally eating science instead of food. He didn't know that, at the end of a long day in the lab, Peter liked to curl up on the sofa and watch a movie, starting a few feet away from Tony and then somehow ending up with his head on his shoulder, resting under his arm and a blanket until he nodded off.

Steve didn't know that Peter hadn't been depressed.

"Fri, order him some dinner. No...order, uh...lots. For everyone. Pick a place." Tony waved a hand, barely able to summon the strength to do that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, but even Sam looked like he'd lost weight, his cheekbones sharp and prominent.

"You gonna eat too?" Sam asked.

Tony nodded. He had to if he was going to stay upright, and he had to stay upright if he was going to solve this. And he was going to solve this. He had to. There was no other option. Pepper had all but taken over daily operations for SI, telling the employees that Tony was dealing with a 'family emergency.' Which...yeah, Tony thought, that's what this was. Family emergency.

The boy who was basically his son was in a coma. And he needed to find out why. Needed to solve one of the most important problems he'd ever faced. Because if he solved it...maybe…

Maybe Peter would wake up.

And Tony was well aware of the fact that this made no sense. That knowing why Peter had done it wouldn't undo the thing. Wouldn't take him back to a time when his kid wasn't in a coma. Wouldn't give him another chance to see the thing he had missed. They were all dealing with this thing in different ways...Steve stood guard. Happy tried to keep May company. May threw herself into her work. Sam tried to take care of the rest of them. And Tony...Tony tried to put the puzzle pieces together to get some sort of bigger picture.

"He wasn't depressed." Tony knew that saying it over and over again wouldn't fix anything. Wouldn't solve this. Wouldn't make the boy wake up. But it was true and he needed people to know it. And sometimes just saying it aloud gave him hope. A thread of something to hold onto. So he looked at Sam, figuring the man was as good a sounding board as any available to him. "He wasn't. He was...he is a teenager. He got moody sometimes. But...but he still loved Star Wars and working in the lab and hanging out with his friends! He...he still went out as Spider-Man. He wasn't withdrawn or isolated. There were no signs! Nothing! Nothing big happened to him! He didn't even get a bad grade on a test! He didn't get hurt on patrol or...or see someone else get hurt."

Sam nodded, playing his part with an air of resignation. This wasn't the first time Tony had laid it all out. But it was important! He was missing something. He had to be! But he'd gone over the footage. Peter hadn't gone out as Spider-Man that Friday afternoon. There was no suit footage.

"Walk me through the day," Sam finally said, voice gentle. And Tony nodded. Pushed down the wave of overwhelming gratitude.

"He was in school all day. Attendance records back that up. He went to Academic Decathlon practice after school. Ned said he was normal. Said that he was going to have dinner with May."

"Why wasn't he patrolling?"

"I asked May. She said she didn't know about it. I guess...he was planning on surprising her? Taking her out to dinner?" Tony shrugged. If only he could ask the kid. "He was doing homework...he has midterms coming up. His desk was covered in books and worksheets."

Tony had looked over every inch of Peter's room, searching for clues. He'd found none. Sure, the kid's room had been a mess...even more of a mess than his workstation. Bed unmade, piles of clothes on the floor, closet open, the floor around his desk covered in scattered papers.

"Okay. Peter leaves the school at…" Sam prompted, and Tony went on.

"Around 3:30. Traffic cams show him leaving Midtown...he was walking with Ned." Tony lifted a hand and a screen lit up. In grainy, black and white footage, Peter and Ned Leeds walked down the sidewalk toward the subway, then disappeared down the stairs.

"Then what?" As if Sam didn't already know. Tony didn't even have to speak. Friday played the footage without asking.

At 7:48pm, Peter left his apartment building. May was scheduled to arrive home at 8. But one of her coworkers called in, and her boss asked her to work for a few extra hours until they could get someone else to cover. She left a voicemail on Peter's phone.

Peter didn't listen to it.

Friday tracked him, showing the footage of Peter going back down the stairs of the closest subway station, then, switched to another camera showing him leaving the subway station nearest the tower. On the screen, he walked up the stairs to the lobby, then the camera switched to Tony's security system, the footage changing to crisp color. The timestamp on the corner of the screen read 8:32pm.

The receptionist glanced up from her desk, giving Peter's back a quick smile before going back to her computer screen. Everyone knew Peter. Friday didn't even tell Tony when he entered the building anymore. And Peter stepped into the elevator. In none of the video, all taken from above, could Tony get a good look at the boy's face. He wore a hoodie, hands hidden in the front pocket, face downward as if he was staring at the floor.

When he stepped out of the elevator, the footage changing to a new camera, Tony caught just a glimpse of the boy's features. Smoothe. Almost blank. And then he was walking down the hall, heading straight for Steve's room. Without hesitation, he turned the doorknob, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.

The screen went dark then. Tony had ordered Friday not to play the rest...the footage of Steve opening his door at 11:22 pm, nearly three hours later. The reappearance of Steve only moments later. Tony and Sam racing down the hall, all of them running into the bedroom. Then Helen and her team a few minutes after.

There were no cameras in the bedrooms. No cameras in the bathrooms.

Friday no longer told Tony when Peter entered the building. He'd thought it was unnecessary. He'd trusted Peter explicitly.

He still did.

Peter hadn't been depressed.

He was missing something.

Sam wandered over to the cork board hanging on the wall, arms crossed, but Tony knew what he would find. What each one of the little green post-it notes said.

_3:30: Peter leaves Midtown High with Ned_

_3:57: Peter walks into his apartment building (homework?)(no phone activity)_

_7:48: Peter leaves his apartment building-goes to subway_

_7:55: May leaves a voicemail for Peter_

_8:32: Peter enters the tower. Goes straight to Steve's room._

_11:22: Steve finds Peter in the bathroom_

Tony hadn't written the details. Hadn't written _Peter swallows 12 pain pills_ on the green post-it. Hadn't been able to make himself write those words. Even now, he could barely think it.

"Why don't you come see him?" Sam suggested, then went on before Tony could decline. Could make an excuse because the thought of seeing Peter like this...the memory of his pale face and blue lips in Steve's bathroom made him want to throw up, which wasn't going to help his situation. "Helen said it might help...talking to him."

Tony knew that Sam had been talking to him. Stopping by to ruffle his hair and tell him everything was okay. That he wasn't alone. And Tony knew that it should have been him in that room, sitting in a chair at Peter's side, assuring the boy that he wasn't alone. So Tony nodded.

"Yeah...I will. After dinner."

And then he turned back to the screen, motioning for Friday to play it again as Sam sighed and headed for the elevator.


	3. Haunting

**_Thank you so much for all of the wonderful, lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy the new chapter!_ **

_September 16th, 7:45pm_

Peter didn't know how much time had passed since he had sat on the floor of the medbay by his own hospital bed...by his own body. He didn't want to look at himself again. Didn't want to see himself laying in that bed. Didn't want to think about how he'd gotten there, or why Steve was so upset. Or why Sam had been telling him that it wasn't his fault. Because why would it be Steve"s fault? What about this would have been Steve's fault? Or Mr. Stark's?

What had Peter done?

He tried to think back. Tried to remember. But all he could come up with was something about dinner with May. Something about homework...and that was it. The rest was a blank. A black hole in his memory. No matter how hard he tried, and no matter how much he focused, he couldn't find those memories between being in his apartment and waking up alone in the medbay. Where was May? And Mr. Stark? It felt like all he had were questions, and no answers to go along with them.

Closing his eyes, Peter tried to listen to his surroundings. Sam had left right after his chest had started hurting, moving from his spot at Steve's side, and going straight to the elevator without glancing back, and Peter had wanted to go with him. But he also didn't want to get up. Didn't want to face any of this or think about it. Because it was impossible, right? He couldn't be here, on the floor, and in that bed. It didn't make any sense! That kind of stuff only happened on TV.

So he was...he was in a coma. That was all he'd been able to figure out. In a coma for reasons he couldn't remember but that Steve and Mr. Stark blamed themselves for? It wasn't a stretch...they both tended to think that everything was their fault. But what had happened? A mission he didn't remember? Something Avengers related? Pressing his hands to the floor, Peter stood averted his eyes from his body in the bed. Maybe it had been a mission. Or maybe he'd gone out on patrols but didn't remember. It had to be something like that.

Peter walked over to the door once more, glad it had been left open just enough for him to slip through. He wasn't sure if he could open doors or pass through them or whatever ghosts or spirits could do, or if he'd be trapped in this room until someone opened the door. He'd never paid all that much attention to the supernatural. His life was weird enough. Full of enough strangeness what with radioactive spiders and superheroes.

Peter slipped out into the hallway once more, paying attention to the tugging feeling in his chest that got stronger the further away he walked from his body. He wondered how far he could go...the elevator was where it had started to hurt before, but maybe that was because his body had been…

In distress?

Peter shook that thought off and headed for Steve's side once more. He didn't know how to tell the man that he was there...that he wanted to talk and that none of this was his fault. Because surely it wasn't. Surely Steve hadn't done anything that would have left Peter in the medbay. Sure, things were kind of awkward with the rogue Avengers around, but they'd all been nice to Peter. Steve wouldn't have hurt him. Not on purpose.

Steve Rogers had a tray in front of him and was half-heartedly picking at a plate of pasta. Beside the plate was a bowl of salad that had mostly been eaten. And a bottle of water sat at the edge of the tray, seemingly untouched. "Steve?" Peter asked, speaking up a little, knowing it was futile and not caring. He needed to get through to someone. Surely he was here for a reason. People didn't just...wake up from comas like this, wandering around like ghosts. Maybe...maybe he just needed to convince Steve that it wasn't his fault. Maybe it was like a...a side quest! And then he could move forward? Get back in his body and wake up? "Steve!" He called again, but the man didn't look up.

Sighing, Peter reached out a hand and let it hover over Steve's shoulder. He didn't want to touch him. Didn't want to let his hand rest on his arm. Peter wasn't sure if it was a psychosomatic thing or if it was part of being a ghost or whatever he was. But he forced himself, fighting every instinct until his fingers touched the fabric of Steve's shirt. It was...unpleasant. Weird. His fingers weren't actually touching anything. But it looked like they were. Almost felt like they were. So Peter pushed harder until his fingers disappeared into the man's shoulder.

It hurt. Like touching the burner of a hot stove, the pain was immediate and both familiar and strange. Peter jerked his hand back just as Steve's head snapped up, huge blue eyes searching the hallway in a mix of fear and confusion. "Hello?" the man asked, looking around, voice soft and hesitant. But there was no one else in the hallway. With a shaking hand, Peter reached for him again, then paused, turning to look at the water bottle instead.

It was close to the edge. Maybe...maybe he could move it! Concentrating as best he could, Peter reached for it, sure it wouldn't be as hot. But just as his fingers brushed against the outside of the bottle, the elevator dinged, and both he and Steve turned to stare at the end of the hallway...at Mr. Stark who was dressed in sweatpants and a tanktop, hair standing on end as if he'd run a hand through it too many times. Peter turned, staring, as the man headed straight for Peter's room, hesitating before resting a hand on the doorknob. Then, as if making a decision, he turned and headed toward where Peter was standing.

"Cap. You gonna sleep down here or what?" Mr. Stark asked with a sniff, barely managing to keep up a facade of nonchalance. But Peter knew him. He could see right through the mask. The man's face was pale, eyes sunken with dark circles under them, and bloodshot eyes. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and Peter wondered when the last time he'd slept was.

Then he remembered Sam's words. Six days. It had been six days.

"I'm fine," Steve told him shortly, not looking at Mr. Stark.

"Yeah? You look it."

"Look who's talking." There was no bite in Steve's voice, and Mr. Stark snorted.

"Yeah. Haven't exactly been keeping up with my beauty sleep. Doesn't mean you need to follow my example."

"I'm just…" Steve shrugged, staring down at his hands. "Keeping an eye on him."

"From the hallway?"

The man just nodded.

"Well, I figured it was about time I paid my kid a visit. Don't want him waking up alone." Mr. Stark sounded like he was about to choke on his words, and Peter winced. He'd never seen the man like this...and he didn't like it.

How could he explain that he'd already woken alone? That he was scared? That he'd never in his life felt so alone?

"You want anything else to eat?"

"No thanks. This is fine."

Mr. Stark just nodded, then turned on his heel and strolled right up to Peter's door. This time, Peter followed him at a half jog, quickly catching up and sliding to a stop beside him. "Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!" he called, practically yelling at the man. But Mr. Stark didn't look up. Just took a deep breath and stared at the floor, eyes pinched shut, lips pressed together. "Mr. Stark!" Peter started to reach for him, but the man raised his head, took another deep breath, threw his shoulders back, then opened the door.

Inside was Peter's body, and Mr. Stark seemed just as reluctant as he was to look at it. No...not it. Him. Peter. That was Peter. Himself. None of it made any sense! Finally, Mr. Stark approached the bed, dropping into the chair beside it, then gently rested his hand over Peter's. "Hey, bud."

Feeling like an intruder, Peter hovered awkwardly at his side, not wanting to sit down...not wanting to get too close to his own body. What if he got...sucked back in? What if...what if he couldn't wake up again? So, not willing to risk it, Peter crossed his arms and stood on Mr. Stark's other side.

"I...I don't know if you can hear me. Sorry I haven't been around much. I just...uh...I'm trying to figure all this out and…" Mr. Stark sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It doesn't make sense, Pete. It...none of this...I don't understand why you did it."

Peter frowned, coming just a step closer. "Did what?" he asked. This didn't make sense. But what had Peter done? "Did what, Mr. Stark?" he asked again, raising his voice. "What did I do?"

"But...it's okay. Even if...if you did...it's fine."

"Even if I did what!" This time, Peter practically screamed it, moving closer. Taking another step. Mr. Stark frowned, narrowing his eyes and squeezing the hand that Peter couldn't feel. It was so strange, seeing his own body. Seeing Mr. Stark holding his hand and not being able to feel it. "What did I do?"

"It'll be okay," Mr. Stark went on, leaning in a little closer. "I'm...I mean...we, May and me, we're going to get you through this. Okay? When you wake up, we can all talk about it. And Sam...hell, he specializes in stuff like this. He can help."

Peter stared at the man...and Mr. Stark's hand resting on his. And he thought. He thought over the pieces of the puzzle that had been given to him. Steve thought this was his fault. So did Mr. Stark. And as for himself...he'd done something. Closing his eyes, he tried to think. Tried to focus despite the weird floaty feeling and the tugging in his chest that wasn't quite so bad at the moment. What had he done?

What had Steve said? If he'd only locked his door? If he had just kept them somewhere else?

Suddenly the tugging in his chest was worse, the world seeming to spin too fast around him as his eyes flew open.

"Mr. Stark? I...what did I do?" He reached out, not caring about the pain he was sure to feel, and shoved his hand into Mr. Stark's shoulder.

Immediately the pain encompassed his hand, but Mr. Stark jerked away, jumping out of his chair and stumbling back as he looked around. But Peter didn't care. He had to know!

"What did I do! What did I do?" He screamed it so loudly that his throat almost hurt. His throat should have hurt! "What did I do? Mr. Stark, what did I do?" The overhead lights dimmed for just a second, and Peter felt his head spin as he took a deep breath, trying to gather himself.

Mr. Stark looked around the room, eyes darting to every corner before landing briefly on Peter's body. "Pete?"

"What did I do!" Peter moved closer, desperate to communicate. But touching Mr. Stark had hurt...so he turned to the tray sitting beside his body, focusing on the cup that sat there. Reaching out and using every ounce of focus he could manage, he grabbed it, fingers slipping through it at first. And at first, it only rocked a little. A minute amount. Still, Mr. Stark stared at it, looking horrified. And hopeful.

"Peter?"

Then, with what felt like every bit of his strength, Peter pushed against the cup again. And with a clatter, it fell to the floor, rolling and coming to a stop against Mr. Stark's feet.

"Peter?" he asked again, and Peter wanted to answer him. To tell Mr. Stark that he was there and to beg the man to walk him through what had happened. But his head was spinning and he felt as though his body had been drained...like he'd felt that time he'd been stabbed...when too much blood had dripped down his side until Happy had come for him.

Backing up, he hit the wall once more, falling gracelessly to the floor as he wondered if he could go through it. If he had ghost powers now. The last thing he saw before the world faded to a strange, fuzzy black, was Mr. Stark, reaching down to grab the cup, Peter's name on his lips once more.


	4. Contact

September 17th: 10:21 am

This was stupid. Tony knew that it was stupid. He knew that he was a man of science, and he knew that Peter Parker was in a coma because he'd tried to kill himself. Those were the facts. Peter had tried to kill himself, and even if Tony didn't believe that Peter had done it on purpose, or that he had been thinking when he'd done it...that there had to be an explanation...it was true. Peter had walked into Steve's birthday and swallowed those pills.

(He'd stopped breathing there hadn't been any oxygen to his brain for Tony didn't even know how long his lips had been blue)

And Tony believed in science. Almost exclusively. He knew that Peter's brain was showing such little activity that his state was classified as a coma. He knew that Peter's brain was what made Peter Peter. He knew that people's spirits didn't leave their bodies. Knew that they didn't move around the room while their bodies lay unmoving in the bed. He knew that Peter hadn't been trying to communicate with him. Because only in movies did people in comas leave their bodies and try to communicate with people.

Right?

So why was Tony standing outside of a strange shop with crystals in the window, a baseball cap pulled over his face?

He glanced back at his car, parked in front of a meter a few hundred feet away in the only spot he'd been able to find. The shops were busy for a Friday morning. All around him, hipsters and young professionals hurried in and out of coffee shops, none of them paying him any mind. He was exhausted and honestly, coffee sounded great, even pretentious coffee. After what had happened last night, he'd barely gotten two hours of sleep.

First, the room had just felt strange. Almost...cold. He'd rested a hand on Peter's, trying to talk to the boy...to get him to respond. To get his brain to wake up and start working again. And then..then his shoulder had been cold. So cold. Painfully cold. He'd jumped up, only for the lights to give a little flicker, and he'd searched the room as if Peter's ghost would appear and explain himself.

He'd called for the boy over and over. And then...then the cup had fallen. Nothing had been near it. He hadn't touched it. And it had crashed to the ground.

As soon as he'd picked it up, the room had gone back to a normal temperature, and Tony had felt his chest clench, the loss making his heart ache. "Pete? Come on, kiddo...do it again. Please," he'd whispered, feeling like an idiot and not caring. Because if that had been Peter...if the kid had been trying to explain himself...then what? How long had Peter been waiting for him to come down? How long had he been alone?

He'd gripped Peter's hand once more then, closing his eyes and leaning over the boy as if in prayer. "I'm here, Pete. I'm right here. Come on, kid...give me a sign. Please. Please, give me something. Please, Peter…" Over and over he'd whispered the words to no effect, and finally, he'd just squeezed the boy's hand and straightened the blankets. "Alright, buddy. That's okay. You rest. I'll be back, okay?"

And then Tony had gone back to the lab. He hadn't told anyone. Not Steve or Sam or Pepper...no one. Because he had to be sure. He had to be 100% certain before he brought this to anyone else. Otherwise people would think that he'd lost his mind. Thus...the weird shop with the crystals.

It had been hard to leave the room. Hard to leave Peter. Every cell in his body had wanted to stay in that room. To lay down on the floor at his side and wait for another sign. Because otherwise, Peter was alone. And he couldn't stand the thought of Peter, or Peter's...spirit? Ghost? Whatever...he couldn't stand the thought of Peter watching him go. Of the boy calling out for him, asking him not to leave.

Tony shook himself out of his thoughts and stepped to the side as an older man with long pink hair rainbow socks pulled up to his knees walked past him into the store, not sparing Tony a second glance. Pulling his cap down a little further over his forehead, Tony stepped inside the shop beside him and nodded to the girl that looked to be about Peter's age who sat behind the counter. Only she couldn't be Peter's age because it was Friday and it was September, and kids Peter's age had to be in class right now.

Peter should be in class. Peter should be in his English class right now. And he should be sending Tony secret texts and Tony should be scolding him, telling him to pay attention in class. But secretly he would be smiling, and he would put down whatever project he was working on and devote all of his attention to his phone until Peter had to get back to his school work. But Peter wasn't in class and he wasn't texting Tony. He was laying in a hospital bed and maybe, just maybe, his spirit was haunting Tony's medbay.

And if he was, Tony was going to prove it.

"Can I help you?" The cashier was looking at him, a friendly smile on her face. Normal friendly, not 'oh my god you're a superhero I'm your biggest fan' friendly. So he fought the urge to adjust the cap and draw even more attention to it.

"I'm, uh...I'm looking for a way to…" He glanced around, feeling like an idiot just thinking it, much less saying it. But he had to do this. Had to prove it to himself and to everyone else. "Uh…" He stepped closer, even though there were only about four people in the shop including himself and rainbow socks. "I need to try and contact a, uh...spirit. Or...a ghost." Or whatever the hell Peter was right now.

She nodded, not losing the smile. "Okay. We get a lot of people that want to contact a deceased loved one."

"He's not deceased!" Tony caught himself at the last minute, lowering his voice and trying to get himself under control. The girl blinked in surprise at his tone though, and Tony bit his lip. "I'm sorry. He's...he's in a coma and yesterday he was...I think he was trying to...to contact me."

The cashier's eyes softened, and she nodded, stepping out from behind the counter. "Okay. I think I might have something."

The girl led him over to the third aisle where there was a large display full of boxes Tony recognized. Ouiji boards.

"I know, they're in, like, every horror movie ever. But if you think your loved one is trying to communicate with you, this might make it a little easier for him." She held up the box and pointed. "It's got the alphabet, yes and no...great for communicating." She started to hold it out, giving him a questioning smile, and Tony nodded, taking the box from her.

"Thank you. Yeah. This, uh...I think this might help."

Once at the counter, Tony paid the required thirty-eight dollars and took a moment to be grateful for the large paper bag that hid the children's toy he'd just bought. But if this meant he could talk to Peter...get some answers, then it would be worth the potential embarrassment.

Tony stood in the elevator for a long time, the paper bag clutched in his arms. Friday didn't ask any questions...just held the elevator there at the medbay floor, doors shut, the camera running. But no one had access to the footage besides him and Pepper….even Pepper didn't know what he was doing. She hadn't asked him any questions either. She'd just been there. Comforting. Stepping in and doing the work he couldn't right now. Pepper knew what Peter meant to him. And Tony knew that Peter was important to her too. It was just easier for her to throw herself into her work. And it was the same for May.

May Parker had already been by, stopping in early that morning between shifts. He'd seen the footage of her walking right into Peter's room. And he'd watched for a long time, but there had been no strange behavior on her part. No lights flickering and no cups falling off of tables. Just May holding her nephew's hand, lips moving as she whispered words Tony hadn't tried to decipher.

She'd collapsed when Helen had first given her the news.. Tony hadn't explained exactly what had happened on the phone. He'd just told her that she needed to go with Happy and get to the tower immediately. That it was an emergency. And then Happy had led her up to the medbay, past where all of the Avengers had been waiting and into his hospital room. That's when Dr. Cho had told her, the three of them standing off to the side of a private waiting room.

And May had shaken her head, backing up and searching their faces for some shred of terrible humor. Searching for some sign that this was a cruel, hateful joke because then, at least, her boy wouldn't be in a coma with a machine breathing for him. Because then she wouldn't have missed the same signs they all must have missed.

When her back had hit the wall, she had slid down it, breath coming in painful sounding gasps as she'd started to sob, legs finally buckling and sending her crashing to the floor where she'd curled up, knees to her chest, face hidden in her legs. And like an idiot, Tony had stood there, not knowing what to do as Helen had moved to sit beside her. But there hadn't been all that much that Helen could do, not when the circumstances were what they were.

They didn't know when exactly he'd taken the pills. They didn't know how long his brain had gone without oxygen. His lips had been blue. Steve had started CPR the second he'd managed to call for the others. He'd given several rescue breaths before Tony and Sam had arrived. Then Sam had taken over. Tony had stood there, on the sidelines, watching without being able to move. The pill bottle had sat neatly on the counter, little blue lid right at its side. The name Steve Rogers printed in black ink on the stark white label, along with the usual warnings.

Tony had nightmares about seeing that bottle. About racing into Steve's bathroom and seeing the bottle on the counter, then turning to look, as if in slow motion, and seeing Peter on the floor, laid out there by Steve as Sam had shouldered his way into the space, placing his mouth over Peter's and giving him rescue breaths. The slight expansion of Peter's chest underneath his blue t-shirt that matched the blue tinge of his lips. Sam's refusal to stop until Helen had gotten there while Tony had stood in the corner and Steve had sat beside the two of them, looking shell-shocked.

What had he missed? His brain went searching again, remembering the text messages they'd exchanged in the week leading up to that night. There had been no fights, not with Tony and not with his friends or May. No bad grades or other school setbacks. In fact, if Tony pulled out his phone right now and brought up Peter's name, he would see his last message in the thread.

"Sounds great, Mr. Stark! See you Saturday! :D"

That had been Friday afternoon. He'd been in Chemistry lab. Flash hadn't even been at school that day, so Tony couldn't even ask him if he'd done something childish and cruel to Peter. And Ned had assured Tony over and over that nothing strange had happened. Nothing out of the ordinary. Tony knew it himself, though. He'd talked to Peter several times that week. So had Happy. May. There had been no signs! No indication of what Peter was going to do.

There were no cameras in the bedrooms. No cameras in the bathrooms.

So he would just have to ask Peter what had happened.

"Open the doors, Friday."

She did, and Tony walked straight for Peter's room, nearly running into Steve right as he was coming out. "Oh…" Steve blinked at him, eyes wandering down to the bag in Tony's arms before shooting back up to him. "Tony."

"Hey, Cap. How is he?"

"He…" Steve swallowed, crossing his arms uncomfortably. "Same. No change."

It didn't surprise Tony, but it still hurt. "I thought I'd sit with him for a little while."

Steve nodded, eyes shooting back down to the bag one more time.

"I thought I'd bring him some clothes," Tony lied smoothly. "For when he wakes up. Kid hates hospital gowns."

The flash of pity in Steve's eyes made him want to throw up. Instead, he looked away, brushing past the man and shutting the door behind him. Of course Peter would wake up. There was no alternative….no future where May and Tony had to live out the rest of their lives without Peter. Where the Avengers never got a new spider-themed member who would surely be the best of them. It was unacceptable.

Tony locked the door behind him, placing his hand flat against the wood for a moment to avoid the sight he knew he was about to witness. Peter, lifeless in that bed, a tube in his throat breathing for him. A tube in his nose giving him the calories he needed to live. Machines performing the bodily functions that he couldn't do himself right now. "Fri, let me know if Helen comes by. Tell everyone I...I need some time with him. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Then he turned. Forced his feet to move. Sat the bag on the table by the cup that had been sent crashing to the floor the day before. Rested a hand on Peter's cool forehead and brushed some hair back. "Hey, kid." His thumb rubbed gently back and forth over the boy's forehead. "I'm back. Sorry I was gone for so long. I, uh….had to do some shopping. Let me tell you, when you wake up, you're gonna love this. You're probably going to hold this over me for a while. But I went to this shop. The Infinite Bliss Spirit Haven. And no, I'm not kidding about the name. It's on the receipt. I'll show you when you wake up." He chuckled a little, blinking quickly to keep the moisture back. "Anyway, I've got an idea, okay?"

Tony removed his hand, wondering if Peter could feel it. If Peter could hear him. Pulling the board game out of the bag, he ripped open the plastic and then, looking around as if about to be caught, he pulled at the lid, shaking it until the bottom dropped out onto the little table at Peter's side. He wheeled the table over until he had room to sit behind it, then laid out the board, unfolding it until the familiar face of the thing stared at him. Letters. Numbers. The weird symbols in the corner. The words yes, no, and goodbye. And, the only other thing in the box besides the board, the tiny triangle thingy.

Planchette, his brain supplied.

"Alright buddy, here's the deal." He sat down in the folding chair right by Peter's head and stared at the empty space in front of him. "I think you're supposed to be on the floor with candles and shit, but I'm old, okay? Plus Helen said no candles allowed in the medbay. I paid almost forty bucks for this thing, which feels like a lot for a board game. Least you could do is play the game with me, huh?" Tony placed the little triangle in the center, between the numbers and the letters, the circle at the top of the planchette hovering over empty space.

When nothing happened for a few seconds, Tony shut his eyes, squeezing them tightly so the tears didn't escape. "Pete? Please?" he whispered, jaw tight so his lip wouldn't tremble. "I need...I need you to...to talk to me, okay? I have to ask you something. And I...I know you were trying to talk to me yesterday, but I couldn't understand so...so I went to that stupid store and got you this so we could...so we could talk…" Now tears slid down his cheeks and he didn't dare take his fingers off of the planchette to wipe them away. "Please, Peter. Please talk to me."

There was stillness in the room for such a long time that Tony wanted to flip the table. To scream and slam his fist into the wall and shake Peter until he woke up. It wasn't fair. He loved this kid so much and he didn't understand and it wasn't fair!

And then something moved. Tony's eyes flew open as the air around him seemed to cool down. "Peter?" The air seemed to move in the room, but when he glanced over at the boy in the bed, he was still. "Buddy...talk to me. Please. Please, Peter. Just...I...I need to talk to you."

Under his fingers, the planchette started to move, and Tony watched dumbstruck as his fingers were drug along for the ride. The little circle came to rest first over H, then I, stopping there, and Tony felt a stupid smile break out onto his face, tears running down his cheeks as he gazed at the empty air across from him.

"Hi, Pete."


	5. Ouija

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So I'm doing my best to finish up this story before October starts because then it will be time for Whumptober! The yearly event where I (try to) write a story every day based on a prompt list. So hopefully I'll be posting daily until this story is done :)

_September 17th: 11:08am_

This time when Peter woke up, he felt...weak. Tired. But he remembered the cup crashing to the floor and the shock on Mr. Stark's face. He remembered that he was in a coma, and currently living out a stupid tv show trope. The only question was, how was he going to tell anyone that he was...a...a ghost or whatever? Touching people got their attention, but it also hurt, and he couldn't figure out how to get them to hear him. He could throw cups on the floor but it made him ridiculously tired and then he was unconscious for he didn't even know how long.

Wiping a hand over his face and propping himself up, he looked around the room, only to nearly jump out of his own skin (well….too late for that, he supposed) when he saw Mr. Stark sitting in a folding metal chair at his body's side, hands resting on a table. No...not a table. Peter sat up a little more and got a better look. It was an ouija board, something he'd seen only on tv and in movies. His catholic aunt had always been wary of them, something Ben had teased her about.

"It's a toy, May," he'd said with a laugh. Still, Peter remembered her crossing herself once when she'd seen one on a horror movie on TV, getting up and leaving the room when demons had come into play and refusing to watch the rest of the movie. And Peter had watched the rest of the movie curled up against Ben's side, a blanket wrapped around the both of them as he'd hidden his face in his uncle's shoulder during the scary parts.

Peter turned his focus from the game on the table to his mentor, and his stomach dropped. Mr. Stark was crying, silent tears running down his cheeks from eyes that were shut tight. The sight made Peter want to cry himself and he shook his head. Mr. Stark was freaking out...and when Mr. Stark freaked out, Peter freaked out. "No...Mr. Stark...it's okay!" Jumping to his feet, he hurried over to the table. That was untrue of course...he wasn't exactly 'okay.' But he didn't want Mr. Stark to cry!

The man stiffened, eyes shooting open as he looked around. Had Mr. Stark heard him? For a moment, the man's eyes moved over to Peter's body, then back to the game before looking around the room. "Buddy...talk to me. Please. Please, Peter. Just...I...I need to talk to you."

His voice was wrecked, pleading and weak, and Peter couldn't say no. Couldn't leave Mr. Stark like this without trying to communicate, even if it was through a children's board game...or a demon toy. Whatever. Either way, he perched on the chair across from the man and placed his fingers on the little triangle. To his surprise, it wasn't like the cup. His fingers rested easily on the wood, sliding it across the board, and the man's face lit up as he moved the little circle on the triangle to hover over the H, and then the I.

"Hi, Pete." Mr. Stark smiled almost right at him, his soft eyes almost meeting Peter's, and his chest tightened at the look on his face. For a moment, his mentor was silent, dropping his gaze back to the table, eyes closing for a moment as he seemed to compose himself. "It...it's you, right? Peter Parker? Not some other ghost or…". He trailed off, sniffing and clearing his throat. "Can you...tell me something only you would know? Or...something that...that proves it's you?" The man was obviously desperate to believe, and Peter thought for a second before moving the wooden piece between them, spelling out the best clue he could think of.

The man nodded, chuckling a little as he put the letters together. "Spider-Man," he murmured, voice faint with disbelief as he tried to hold himself together. "Okay...okay, so, working on the assumption that this is really you…"

Peter cut him off, not able to hold back anymore as he moved the triangle, and instantly Mr. Stark's focus was back on the board, eyes darkening a little as Peter spelled out the word "sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Pete?" Mr. Stark asked, practically whispering.

Peter started to shrug, then remembered and spelled slowly. "I don't know," he murmured along with the words. "What happened?"

Mr. Stark stared at him, or...near him. Peter shifted a little to be in his line of sight, but it wasn't the same. The man couldn't see him. "You don't remember?"

He moved it over to the corner, to one of the three words. "No."

The man sighed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before bracing himself, shoulders tense. "You...you came into the tower and...you...you took all of Cap's pain pills."

Peter jerked as if the man had slapped him, hands falling from the little triangle as he scooted back in his chair. No. No, he wouldn't have done that. No way. Cold horror constricted his throat and he wanted to stand. To back away and scream and jump back into his body and force it to wake up! He wouldn't have done that! Never! Just the thought made him feel sick. Had...had Mr. Stark found him? Or Steve? Oh god…Steve. Steve was blaming himself for this!

"Pete? Don't go," Mr. Stark practically begged, leaning forward. "It's okay. I'm not mad. No one's mad at you. We love you, kiddo. It's..."

Peter jumped forward and pushed on the triangle again, moving it over to "no" once, then over and over, saying it as he did so. Mr. Stark stared at it, eyes narrowing as his hands were dragged along. So Peter kept going. "I didn't do it. I wouldn't."

"Woah...woah, slow down, Pete." He gave a faint, sad smile that bordered on incredulous. Hopeful. "I can only read so fast."

So Peter did. As slowly as he could bear with shaking hands, he spelled out the words, glancing up at Mr. Stark as he did so. "I wouldn't do that. I didn't do it. I promise, I wouldn't do that."

For a moment, he was sure that Mr. Stark wasn't going to believe him. But then the man softened, closing his eyes as another tear fell. "I know. I...I knew you wouldn't," Mr. Stark whispered. He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "But it's on the cameras. You walked into the tower and went straight to Steve's bathroom. Then…he found you a few hours later."

"I wouldn't," Peter spelled out again, and Tony nodded, lips pressed together.

"I knew that. I kept telling…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "I know. I believe you. But...you did. Something made you do it. Do you remember anything from that day?"

"School. Aca Dec. That's all."

Mr. Stark stared at the board, then in his direction. "Do you promise, Pete? Because even if you did it...no one would be mad. If there's something else going on, then we can work through it, okay? I promise, we can work through it and you won't be in trouble."

Without hesitating, Peter moved the triangle. "I promise."

Mr. Stark nodded. "Okay. I believe you. I...I didn't think you would. I couldn't figure out why...if I'd missed something."

He moved the triangle back to 'No.' Then, after a moment, he moved it again. "Am I going to wake up?"

The man across from him closed his eyes, clenching his jaw and dropping his chin to his chest as he took a shuddering breath. When he finally looked up, Peter's heart dropped. "We don't know how long you went without oxygen." Feeling suddenly cold, Peter moved his hands away from the board game. "We've got the best doctors. I...kiddo, we're going to do everything we can. Just...don't...please don't leave."

He wanted to. He wanted to curl up in the corner and scream and cry but he didn't know if he could cry because he was a ghost. And he wanted to remember. He wanted to know why he'd done it. What had made him do it?

"Peter?"

He put his hands back on the triangle and moved it with hands that shook once more. "I don't want to die."

"Pete…" The man closed his eyes and shook his head. "You...you won't…" He sniffed, bringing up a hand and wiping at his eyes. "I'm going to do everything...everything I can to figure this out. There has to be someone that can help us. I'm going to...I'm going to find someone. Okay? I'm going to fix this."

"How?" Peter pressed, feeling desperate. And Mr. Stark lifted a hand off of the triangle and wiped his eyes again. "I don't know why." He left the sentence there, not knowing how to finish it. He didn't know why he'd done it. He didn't know what had made him do something like that. And he didn't know how to fix it.

Mr. Stark started to reach out a hand, then froze, half left there in mid-air. Before he could pull away, Peter lifted his own hand and hovered it right over the other man's, and Mr. Stark gave a faint smile. "I can feel you. You're so cold," he whispered.

Peter moved the triangle of wood again. "It burns to touch you." The man's lip twitched a little.

"Can you walk through doors?"

"I don't know," Peter answered, the little triangle scraping over the board softly, that sound the only noise in the room. He couldn't help but notice that the more he talked, the more tired he was getting...that just the act of moving the little triangle was getting harder...just a little bit. But it was noticeable. And the last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge it.

"Do you think the others are going to think I'm crazy?"

Peter moved the triangle over to yes and Tony snorted, then gave him a hopeful look.

"If...if I go upstairs, can you come?"

He hesitated, then moved the triangle, Mr. Stark's fingers dragging along. "I can't go far."

"Why not?" Mr. Stark asked.

"Hurts. Tugging."

The man frowned at that. "Tugging?" he repeated, then glanced at the bed. "Like...toward your body?"

He moved it to yes.

"Okay...so, why don't you...get back in your body?"

Peter shuddered at the idea before answering. "Scared."

He softened then. "I've got the best doctors looking out for you Pete. Helen picked out the best team and she's even trying to contact Stephen Strange. Best neurosurgeon in the country. Maybe the world." But the man didn't tell Peter not to be scared. And he knew why.

Mr. Stark was scared too. So was Steve. Sam. Probably all of them. Scared was the right response.

"I didn't do it," Peter told him again, making sure to move the triangle slowly. He wanted to say more. He wanted to explain that even if he'd done it, that it hadn't been _him_! That he would never do something like that. That he would have gone to May or Tony before reaching that point. So...so they were missing something. They had to be!

"I know, buddy. I believe you."

The knock at the door startled them both, and Peter pulled his hands away from the triangle as if caught. Mr. Stark barely moved though, just glanced over at the door. "Yeah?" he called.

"Tony, it's time for me to run some tests," Helen called through the door, and Mr. Stark's gaze shot back over to the place where Peter sat, eyes landing just over his shoulder.

"Sure," he called. "Just a second." Then to Peter, "I'm going to give Helen a few minutes. Want to go for a walk?"

"Yes."

The man grinned, a little hope coming back into his eyes, breaking through the sadness. "Alright, kiddo. Let's test those ghost powers and see how far you can go, huh?"

Despite the growing exhaustion that weighed on Peter, he nodded as if the man could see him. If Mr. Stark wanted to keep talking, he would until he couldn't anymore. "Yes."

_**Thank you for reading.** _


	6. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to every single person that has reviewed. I don't talk about it a ton, but reviews literally keep me going. It means more than I could ever say to see your reviews, and I treasure every one of them. It is so amazing that you guys take time out of your day to read my stories and then tell me you like them. So thank you so much to everyone that reviews. They're what keep me writing and keep me sharing my stories. <3 <3 <3

_September 17th: 11:29pm_

Tony moved down the hallway, the game shoved back into its box and into the paper bag he carried under one arm, heading away from Steve and Helen and the others. He needed to find a new place to talk to Peter...a place where no one would see him pull out an ouija board, ideally, because surely then they'd all think he was insane. But he wasn't. He wasn't insane because that planchette had moved and it hadn't been Tony doing it. It hadn't! And he knew it, even as a quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see. That his own subconscious was playing a trick on him.

Because he knew Peter. He knew the kinds of things the kid would say and he knew that Peter wouldn't have done this on purpose. He hoped that Peter wouldn't have done this on purpose. There had been no signs. No indication that Peter was suicidal. But...but his brain knew what Peter would say and he knew what he wanted to believe and he knew that his fingers could form those letters just as easily as Peter's could.

But no. Because the air on his left side was chilly, a sure sign of Peter's presence. It had to be Peter. Now that he'd started to hope, he knew that he wouldn't be able to bear the disappointment if he was wrong...if, somehow, he'd made all of this up. He couldn't have, though. And Peter...Peter didn't know why he'd taken those pills. Didn't remember it. So...so what? What had happened in his apartment? What were they missing? He thought again of the timeline. Of the post-it notes on the wall in his lab.

Suddenly he was glad that Peter couldn't leave the medbay. He didn't want the kid to see the post-it notes in his lab. He didn't want Peter to see the footage of himself walking into the tower and going straight to Steve's bathroom. Trying to shake that thought off, he turned his mind to the future instead. He believed that Peter was walking along beside him as a...a spirit or...or a ghost or whatever. So how did he ensure that Peter got back into his body and woke up and was fine? Could he even ensure that?

He had to. He had no other choice.

Tony hesitated at the elevators, glancing around at the various rooms. Most were set up for patients. And there was a waiting room, but anyone could walk in. Choosing an unoccupied patient room at random, he opened the door and paused as if waiting for the boy to go in before him. "How is it here? Too far?" he asked. They were only a door away from the elevators, and he didn't want Peter to be uncomfortable. But he also found himself filled with questions about the whole thing. About Peter and what exactly he was now and how this children's toy was capable of letting Tony talk to him.

Remembering at the last second that Peter couldn't answer him aloud, Tony looked around for a table, but there was none. Just an empty bed. Sighing and wondering why every room didn't come equipped with more furniture, then resolving to remedy that soon, he sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling out the box and laying the board game out on the floor. Placing the planchette in the center, he leaned over, wincing when it hurt his back. After a moment, the planchette began to move.

"You are too old for this."

Tony snorted, rolling his eyes and trying to push back the wave of emotion. With every word exchanged between them, he was more and more sure. And more and more afraid. This was Peter. He had to help Peter. "Laugh it up, kid. You'll be old someday too." Even as he said it, he prayed it was true. "Is it okay? This room?"

"Yes."

"How about the...tugging or whatever? Toward your body. You need to be closer?

"No."

He sighed. Usually the kid couldn't shut up, but talking this way was a little more complicated. "Too bad you can't haunt a computer or something. At least typing would be faster."

"Sorry. Did not get to choose."

Tony laughed. "I guess you didn't." But then he remembered the pills. The straight path from Peter's apartment complex to the tower. The glimpse of the boy's blank face in the footage. He hadn't gotten to choose. He hadn't done it on purpose. Hadn't known he was doing it. So, Tony realized with a cold feeling of dread in his stomach, someone had made him. Someone had done this to him. But how

He jumped when the planchette moved again, pulling him from his thoughts. "What now?"

"Well...I don't really know, Pete. I've got doctors looking after you 24/7. But I need to figure out what happened in your apartment. You went home after school. Then a few hours later you came here." Tony shrugged. "Something must have happened in your apartment. But there were no signs of struggle or forced entry...and I can't imagine you'd let a stranger into your apartment. No one you know could have made you do something like that." He shook his head, stumped.

For a moment, there was silence, the planchette still beneath his fingers. And then the air by his hand cooled down again, and the planchette was moving. "May is scared of these boards."

Tony chuckled a little, a tiny smile escaping as Peter kept talking.

"Catholic. Afraid of demons."

"You see anything scary? Any monsters where you are?" Tony asked, wishing they could keep up the pretense. Wishing they could just joke and laugh and not worry.

"No. Just you. Steve. Sam."

"Yeah, well tell me if that changes," Tony ordered, trying to look at the place where Peter would be. But there was nothing. Just the empty space and the plain, white wall. Then the planchette moved again and he looked down to catch the letters.

"Not Steve's fault."

"I know," he said with a nod. "That's what we're all trying to tell him."

"Not yours either."

That made him hesitate, jaw clenched, but the letters kept coming.

"You did not miss anything. I would not do that."

"What if I did?" Tony whispered, looking beseechingly into the empty space in front of him, finally putting words to his fears to Peter. To what he hoped was Peter. "What if you just don't remember? What if you…" he dropped his eyes then, staring holes through the board. "What if you were hurting and I just didn't see it?"

His fingers were tugged along as Peter spelled out his reply. "You see everything."

Tony gave a weak chuckle. If he saw everything, he wanted to say, then why hadn't he seen this? Why hadn't he known that Peter was in the tower? That the boy he loved like a son was laying on Steve's bathroom floor, not breathing, as his brain began to die? He had thought that somehow, despite everything he knew about science and logic and the realities of life, that he would have just...known. That if Peter was depressed or hurting or contemplating something like that...if his boy was dying on the floor only a few thousand feet away from him, an internal alarm would go off, telling him that someone he loved needed him.

"This is not your fault," the board told him again. And what if it wasn't Peter? What if this was all his imagination? What if...Tony closed his eyes, hating himself for even thinking it. What if Peter was dead? What if his brain had been so damaged that he never woke up? As he struggled to take deep breaths, fighting the tears that wanted to fall, his hands got colder and colder, as if Peter was moving his hands closer and closer, but not quite touching.

"I love you, you know that Pete?" The words came easily for some reason. Maybe because he couldn't actually see the kid. "I love you so much."

Just as the planchette started to move, there was a quick knock on the door, and then Sam Wilson and Helen Cho stepped into the room.

Sam was the first to react, a thousand emotions passing over his face before he shook his head and sighed. "Tony…"

Tony jumped to his feet, adrenaline and desperation fueling his movements so that he barely felt the twinge in his lower back. "I know this looks crazy…"

"Tony, I think it would be best…" Helen started but he bulldozed on.

"No! Listen to me! He's here. I've been talking to him! I swear, Wilson, I know it looks like I've lost my shit but I would not lie about this. It's Peter. I swear to you, it's Peter, and he doesn't remember…" Tony trailed off, still not wanting to say the words, but going on anyway. "He doesn't remember taking those pills. He said he didn't do it! And I believe him." The sadness warring with pity in Sam's eyes nearly broke him but Tony refused to stop. "He's been talking to me! He was trying to talk to me when I was sitting with him and so I went to some new age place and they sold me this and I was sure it wouldn't work but Peter is talking to me! He's here! He's with us right now! And…" Tony trialed off, looking desperately back at the empty space. "He'll talk to you too...right Pete? He'll...he'll talk to you!"

"Tony, I know how much you love him," Sam murmured, reaching out a hand to rest on Tony's shoulders. "But he wouldn't want this. I think you need to get some sleep, and…"

"I don't need fucking sleep!" Tony practically screamed, then tried to calm down. They weren't going to believe him if he started acting like a crazy person. Already he could see the looks Sam was shooting at Helen. "Okay...I'm sorry. I know this sounds insane. I...trust me, if I were in your shoes, I'd find a big needle and a nice soft room for me to sleep it off. But please, I'm...I'm begging, Sam. Helen. I am begging you. Please. Just...you don't even have to take my word for it. Just sit down and put your hands on that stupid planchette and talk to him. You can pick the thing up...it's just a board game. A piece of cardboard and a plastic triangle but for some reason, Peter can use it to talk to us and I...I need you to trust me. Please. Please, Sam."

He finished his plea in a whisper, trying not to think about the tear that might or might not have escaped. His hands shook at his sides and he couldn't breathe as Sam looked into his eyes, then over at the board game on the floor before nodding. "Okay...look, I'll sit on the floor and try to talk to the kid."

Tony nodded, heart in his throat as the man moved over to the place where he'd been sitting, lowering himself onto the floor. He wanted to plead with Peter...beg him to talk to Sam. Not to make him look crazy by suddenly disappearing. And in his brain, he kept asking the question. What if he _was_ making it up? What if Peter was gone? What if his kid's suicide had been the thing to break him?

"Alright kid," Sam muttered, placing his fingers on the planchette as Tony held his breath and Helen came to stand beside Tony, giving him a borderline worried look. "Tony's pretty convinced that you're in the room. So, uh...talk to me, okay?" He placed his fingers on the planchette, and for a few seconds, there was silence. Stillness. And Tony felt his heart starting to shatter.

He was gone. Peter was gone. His son was gone and Tony's mind had somehow shattered and…

And the planchette moved. Slowly, it hovered over the letter H, then I, and Tony's knees went weak with relief as Sam stared wide-eyed at the board, and then at the empty space in front of him before his face softened a little with relief.

"Hi, kid."

Tony laughed, the sound bursting out of him. It was true. It was true! Helen grabbed his arm as his legs threatened to give, leading him over to the bed so that he could sit down. "Pete…" he whispered, meeting Sam's eyes. "It's...it's him. He's...it's him!" He wasn't crazy! Peter was in the room with him and his brain hadn't snapped and Peter was...aware? Alive? Awake in some way?

"I mean...you're sure it's not some other ghost?" Sam asked, half heartedly teasing, but also seeming partially serious.

"He said 'Spider-Man.' So...yeah, I'm pretty sure it's him." Tony went on, the words pouring forth. "He doesn't remember the pills. He doesn't know what to do. He said he's scared to go back in his body...he's afraid he won't wake up."

"Okay…" Helen spoke up then, looking first at the Ouija board, then at Tony, her hand still hovering over his arm as though he might fall at any moment. And in her defense, Tony thought, she might not be wrong. "Okay, I think...I think I might know somebody that can help."

_**Thank you for reading!** _


	7. Strange

**Thank you so much to everyone that has been reading and reviewing! I'm going to be posting another chapter later today and the final chapter tomorrow :) I hope you enjoy!**

_September 17th: 3:04pm_

Peter lay on the hospital bed in the room where he had been talking to Mr. Stark, stretched out on top of the blankets and somehow comfortable. He was tired. He'd felt it from the moment he'd woken up, but he hadn't said anything to anyone. Not Mr. Stark, who had reluctantly sat back down at the board to tell Peter that he'd be back soon after Sam had insisted he eat something. Not Sam, who had, once Mr. Stark had been gone, sat on the floor across from him and asked him a couple of questions. Are you okay? Do you really not remember anything? It's okay if you did it. You won't be in trouble.

Not Steve, who hadn't believed at first. Who had practically laughed in Sam's face, rolling his eyes the whole time the man had dragged him into the room with the ouija board on the floor. Finally, after being coaxed and practically bullied into it, Steve had sat, huffing out a sigh and refusing to look at the place where Peter sat, his fingers resting on the triangle that Mr. Stark had called a planchette. And despite his growing exhaustion, Peter had moved the little triangle to the same letters he had with Mr. Stark and with Sam.

"Hi."

At first, Steve had lifted up the board, then the planchette, demanding to know what was happening. If this was some kind of trick. But as soon as Sam had been able to get Steve to replace their set up and rest his fingers on the triangle once more, Peter had moved it, telling him the same thing he'd told Mr. Stark.

"Not your fault."

Sam had knelt beside him as he'd placed his head in his hands. "See. Even the kid says it's not your fault."

Peter had wanted to reach out too. So, despite the growing exhaustion and how hot the man's skin was, he had reached out, hovering his hand over Steve's. Steve's head had jerked up, and he'd nearly looked right at him. "Peter?" he'd whispered, voice so faint that Peter nearly didn't hear him. He'd waited until Sam had nudged his hands back down to the planchette before moving it once more.

"Yes."

Steve hadn't asked him any questions. He'd just sat there, hands resting on the planchette, their hands nearly touching, but not quite, before Sam had urged him to go eat. To take a break from standing guard. And Steve had started to argue before Peter had moved the planchette down to 'goodbye' prompting both men to laugh a little.

"Fine," Steve had agreed with a smile, moving his hands away from the planchette. As soon as he'd done so, the piece of plastic or wood or whatever it was went back to a normal object. Just like the cup, Peter's fingers went right through it unless it used all of his focus, and he was too tired to even try that again. Instead, he'd watched Sam give his friend a hand up, then turn to him.

"We'll be back, okay kid? Just, uh...hang out here. Don't run off." Peter had wondered if that part was a joke as he'd moved to the bed, which was where he'd remained, even as an alarm in the other room had gone off. His eyes had started to drift, chest giving an uncomfortable, almost painful twinge, and he'd heard voices yelling. But he didn't get up. Didn't open his eyes, not until a voice started shouting.

"Peter! Come on, kid! Peter?" Mr. Stark called, and Peter looked up from where he'd been laying as if he was jerking awake. How long had he been in the bed? "He's not answering me! It's like he's...he's not even here!" Mr. Stark cried, and he looked up to find Mr. Stark on the floor, Sam in the doorway, lips pursed in concern. "Peter!"

And despite his exhaustion, Peter forced himself to get up...to sit across from Mr. Stark and put his fingers on the planchette and moved it. "Hi."

"Shit, kid…" Mr. Stark closed his eyes and shook his head, and Peter tried not to notice the tears. To let himself think about how much this was hurting the man he loved so much...the man who had become like his father after he'd already lost two of them.

"Sorry."

"Don't...don't be sorry, bud," Mr. Stark murmured, as Sam moved to sit next to him, looking haggard. Had anyone told Sam to take a break yet?

Peter moved the planchette again, hoping that he wouldn't fall asleep mid-conversation. "Sam eat. Sleep."

It took the men a moment, their eyes narrowing in confusion, but Sam got it first and chuckled. "I'm fine, kid. We all ate lunch."

"Where were you?" Mr. Stark asked, still seeming shaken.

"Tired," Peter answered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't see the worry on Mr. Stark's face.

"Tired," the man repeated in a whisper. "You're tired?"

"Yes."

"Okay...um...do you want to rest some more?" Mr. Stark didn't seem to want to ask the question. Didn't seem to want to let him go. So Peter asked another question instead.

"What happened?" Mr. Stark just looked at him, reluctant, but it was Sam that answered.

"Your heart stopped. Again." Sam spoke matter-of-factly, but not unkindly. Peter wasn't fooled. Sam was just as scared as Steve.

"They're doing the best they can," Mr. Stark put in, words coming out in a rush. "You're going to be fine."

"Doctor Cho called a colleague of hers. He's on his way. She thinks he might be able to help." Sam glanced at Mr. Stark. "He should be here soon. He's gonna help you." Sam seemed to believe it. And it was a nice thought. A thought that Peter wanted to hold on to.

"Peter? How are you feeling? Tell me the truth, kiddo," Mr. Stark murmured, leaning forward, and so Peter told the truth.

"Tired."

"Okay…" He glanced over at Sam, then nodded as if to himself, a smile softening his face a little. "Why don't you rest for a little while? We'll be close by."

Peter didn't argue. Instead, he moved the planchette. "OK." And then he climbed back into the bed and closed his eyes. It was almost like napping...almost like rest, but his mind kept wandering back to his body. His body was dying. He knew it like he knew his own name. But why? Why was he awake? What would happen if he got back into his body? Would he wake up?

What if he didn't? What if he never woke up again?

"He was in here."

Once more, a voice snapped him out of his rest, and he blinked blearily at the door as it opened, revealing Mr. Stark and a man he'd never seen before. The second man was tall, with dark hair striped with a light gray and a goatee almost like Mr. Stark's. This man scanned the room, eyes lingering on the Ouija board for just a moment, one eyebrow raising. "And you were using that to communicate?" he asked, his voice deeper than Mr. Stark's. Slower. Like a man that had all the time in the world.

"Yeah. Since this morning."

The man nodded, then turned to Mr. Stark. "I'd like to see his body."

Mr. Stark flinched at the term, and Peter did too. Still, his mentor gave a stiff nod and turned, heading toward the hallway once more. "We'll be right back, Pete," he called, ignoring the second man as he hesitated, his hand resting on the doorframe. "You can come if you want."

Peter did. He wanted to figure out what was going on. But his whole body was so heavy and he was tired and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could take a nap. A real one. And then, when he woke up, he could figure out what was going on. So he closed his eyes, wishing he could jump up like he had earlier in the day, getting close enough to Mr. Stark that the man would know he was there. But it felt impossible...like when he'd been bitten by the spider. All he could feel was exhaustion and the pain in his chest, an ache that spread out to all of his limbs.

He drifted for a long time. Or what felt like a long time. But then the soft, deep voice returned, this time closer. "Hello, Peter."

It made him jump, and his eyes shot open, head jerking upright to find the man standing beside him, hands clasped in front of him. He was looking at Peter...not near him. Not around him. Right at him, their eyes making contact. "You...you can see me?" he whispered.

The man nodded, speaking mildly. "I can. My name is Doctor Stephen Strange. It's nice to meet you."

"Oh...um...you too." Peter forced himself upright, using his hands on the bed to hold himself there. Doctor Strange seemed to be observing him for a moment, then nodded, as if to himself.

"Your body is dying," he told Peter without preamble. "This is partially because of the damage done by the medication you took. It is also because your spirit is not with your body. The longer you stay in this plane, the more tired you will feel until your body dies completely."

Peter just blinked at him, stomach flipping uncomfortably. "Oh," he whispered, blinking rapidly.

The man softened, moving to sit on the bed beside Peter, hands resting in his lap. "Stark told me that you don't remember what happened."

"I don't," Peter all but whispered. "I...I was at school. And then I woke up here."

"I see." He nodded, reaching out and putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. That action alone...the feeling of a warm hand on his arm, made tears spring to his eyes. How long had it been since he'd felt someone touch him?

"I wouldn't have done that. I promise. I don't remember but I wouldn't have tried to kill myself! I wouldn't have done that to Mr. Stark or May...or Steve! I promise!"

"Stark was adamant on this point as well," the man told him, keeping the hand on his shoulder. "When I examined your body, there was magical residue there. I believe you were placed under a spell."

"A...a spell?" Peter repeated, voice dubious despite the situation.

"Yes. I am a doctor, but I'm also a sorcerer." Peter's mouth tugged upward, but the man remained completely stoic. Serious. "I believe that a sorcerer came into your home and placed you under a mind control spell. They obviously wished to harm you."

"So...why not just kill me there?"

"My best guess is that they did not wish to be traced. It is most likely that they knew you were Spider-Man, and wanted to eliminate you as a threat. Mind control spells are difficult to control, and use a lot of energy the more specific they get. So if they implanted the idea that you must kill yourself, it seems likely that they did not specify how."

"But...then why would I go to the tower? Why not just...jump off a building?" Peter asked, shuddering a little.

"My best guess? You were still somewhat in control of your actions, and you knew that your best chance of survival involved being as close to the Avengers as possible."

"Okay...but why me?" he practically cried. "I'm not even an Avenger! And I didn't know that sorcerer were real so it's not like I was any threat to them."

This made the man pause, lips pursed. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I would need to examine your apartment to see if I can get any leads on magical energies there. But first, I need you to go back to your body." Peter felt himself blanch, but the man went on. "The sooner you do so, the better your chances are."

"But…"

"Peter, I can feel you fading. We don't have a lot of time before you won't have the option to return to your body. Stark asked me to save you. I'm going to do my best." He hesitated, then stood, holding out a hand. "Come. I'll let you speak to Stark first."

Peter let himself be tugged along, wondering why the man didn't grab the ouija board...or maybe he couldn't. He was able to touch Peter, so maybe he was a ghost too. It didn't make sense until the man stepped into Peter's hospital room where his body sat in a chair next to Peter's, slumped over with his head hanging limply on his chest. As though it were the easiest thing in the world, Doctor Strange sat down in his body, and the man came back to life, making Mr. Stark, who sat on Peter's other side, jump.

"Holy shit, doc," the man muttered, shaking his head tiredly. "What the hell?"

"I spoke to Peter," Doctor Strange told him without preamble. "His spirit is fading, and if he does not return to his body, it will die. Soon"

Mr. Stark blinked at him for a minute, then jumped to his feet, shaking his head. "But...wait, so if he gets back in his body, he'll be fine?"

Doctor Strange hesitated. "I didn't say that."

"Then what the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if Peter returns to his body, there is a chance that he will survive. If his spirit remains outside of his body, there is not."

Mr. Stark stared at Peter's body for a moment, lips pressed tightly together as he seemed to focus on his breathing, taking one deep breath after the other. His hand reached out, clasping Peter's, and Peter wished he could feel it. Wished he could wrap his arms around the man and tell him not to cry...that it was okay. That he was sorry.

Doctor Strange stood off to the side, lost in thought, before he looked up once more and spoke, his voice gentle this time. "Would you like to speak to him first?"

Mr. Stark's head snapped up. "What?"

"Would you like to speak to him? Before he returns to his body?"

Immediately, Mr. Stark nodded. "Yeah...yeah. Let me get the board."

"Actually," Doctor Strange said, lifting a hand, "I had something a little different in mind."

Peter watched, leaning against the doorframe, as Doctor Strange had Mr. Stark sit down in the chair he'd vacated, his mentor's hands clasped uncomfortably, eyes shooting around the room. "You're sure this is safe?"

"I'm absolutely sure."

"And I'm really going to see Peter?"

"You are."

"And I'll be able to return to my body?"

"You will. It's as easy as climbing back into yourself." Mr. Stark grimaced at that, and Peter laughed at the man's expression. "Are you ready?"

"To see Peter? Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

And then the Doctor pressed his fingers into Mr. Stark's forehead, pushing gently, and as Peter watched, Mr. Stark's spirt was shoved backward, coming to stand behind the chair, wild eyes moving first to his own body, then to Doctor Strange, and finally, around the room until they landed on Peter.

_**Thanks for reading!** _


	8. Goodbyes

**_Thank you so much to everyone that has been reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoy the next to last chapter of this story that I have so loved writing!_ **

_September 17th: 4:34pm_

Tony felt weird. Strange. Floaty. Like...like his feet weren't quite on the floor, which made sense, because when he looked down, he realized they weren't. Not quite. His body was...strange. Slightly transparent. But no...no his body was sitting in front of him, head tilted back, limbs loose and limp, and Doctor Stephen Strange stood in front of him, lips pursed before moving over to sit on the edge of Peter's bed. In a surprising move, the doctor reached out and adjusted the blankets on Peter's bed, pulling them up to cover his shoulders.

So Doctor Strange already had a soft spot for the kid. Tony couldn't blame him. The kid was like a puppy. No one could resist him. Not Tony. Not the Avengers. And apparently not Stephen Strange.

Strange had taken one look at Peter's body before making some weird hand motions and Tony had been about to ask him to cut it the fuck out when something started happening...glowing. The air above Peter had started to glow. And had Tony not been just talking to Peter's spirit using an ouija board, he would have thought he'd finally snapped. But the air had been glowing and then Stephen had nodded as if that had shed any light on the matter.

But all thoughts of glowing air had flown from his mind when Strange had gone limp in that chair...and then when he'd suddenly returned, letting him know that they were basically damned if they did and damned if they didn't. They had to get Peter to go back into his body or he would die...but even if he went back into his body, he still might die. And also, apparently some wizards had tried to kill his kid. So...it was a weird day, with his ouija board conversations with his kid not even topping the charts for weirdest things happening to him in the last 24 hours.

So he was outside of his body, just like Strange had been. And as he turned to look from his body, to Stephen Strange, to the rest of the room, he found him. He found Peter.

This might be the last time he got the chance to talk to Peter.

He didn't let that thought stop him from practically running over to the boy who was leaning against the wall, but who threw himself into Tony's arms. If ghosts could look sick, Peter looked sick. Pale and strangely thin, he felt light. Bony. Tired. Unsubstantial. It was a stark contrast to how the boy usually felt when the kid would jump into his arms and give him a tight hug before getting to work in the lab. Tony always pretended to roll his eyes and gave Peter a pat on the back before pushing him away and telling him to get to work. Now he held the boy tight, refusing to let go as Peter wrapped his own arms around him with none of the strength that he usually posessed.

"Peter," he whispered, nuzzling his face into Peter's hair. "Peter, Peter…" He pressed his lips to the side of Peter's head and the kid smiled up at him before resting his head on Tony's shoulder. "Talk to me, kid. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," he muttered, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Tell me the truth."

"I'm just tired."

Tony nodded. Stephen had mentioned that...that the boy would be more and more tired until he just...went to sleep and never got up. Which was unacceptable. But the alternative wasn't that much better.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry, Pete?"

"Because...because they...they made me do this."

"Peter, if Doctor Oddball is right, then they literally had you under their spell. Mind control, kid. You can't blame yourself for that." The kid shrugged, not looking up from Tony's shoulder, but he didn't mind, just holding the back of his head and rubbing his back. He could stay like this, he thought. He could stay like this and hold him and...and at least...at least Peter would know that he was there. That he was holding him and that he was safe. The thought made tears spring to Tony's eyes and he shook his head, closing his eyes to fight them.

"I don't want to," Peter whispered after a moment, and Tony knew exactly what he meant before he said it.

"I know, buddy."

"I don't wait to die."

"I know. I know, Pete."

"It's not fair! I...I didn't do it! I didn't want to die!"

"I believe you." He held Peter closer, rocking him a little as the tears finally fell. "I know you didn't want this, Pete. And I swear, we're going to find the people that did this to you. Okay? I swear. We're going to find them and we're going to stop him."

Stephen Strange had promised that much before going to meet Peter as a ghost or spirit or whatever. He'd promised that they would stop the rogue sorcerers and bring them to justice and that was all well and good but what about Tony's kid? What about Peter? How was New York supposed to function without Spider-Man? How was Tony supposed to live without Peter? And what about May? And Happy? What about Steve and Sam, who both cared so much about the kids and had been running themselves ragged since they'd found him on that bathroom floor?

And what about Peter? Tony was just supposed to expect him to go back to his body and...and what? Just hope? Pray that he actually woke up soon? Because for the last few days, and especially within the last 24 hours, the boy had been going downhill. His heart had stopped twice. Helen was worried about brain damage.

"I can't feel it," Peter told him suddenly, tears in his voice, but his face was still hidden. "My body. When you held my hand. I couldn't feel it! I won't...I won't know that you're with me if…"

"I will be with you. Peter…" Tony rocked him, taking most of his weight as the boy leaned on him. "I swear to you, I'm going to be with you the whole time. I'm going to be holding you. No matter what. I'll be right there. And...and I'll call May. I'll tell her to come. We'll both be here."

"No...no don't tell May. She...she'll freak out. And if she freaks out…"

"Then you freak out. I know," Tony soothed. "I know. But she'll want to be here." He said it as gently as he could, because as much as he couldn't stomach the thought, he wanted Peter to know that even if the worst happened, he wouldn't be alone.

"May believes in heaven," Peter told him, voice a little muffled as his shoulders shook with the tears that he couldn't seem to stop, Tony crying along with him and struggling to hide it. He needed to be strong for Peter. Steady. Comforting.

"Yeah? What about you?" Tony wondered, trying to sound casual. Like they were discussing the weather instead of something unspeakable.

"I...I hope so."

The words were like a knife in Tony's heart but he forced himself to respond. "If there's anyone on this planet that deserves a place like heaven, it's you. You're the best kid in the world, Pete. The best thing that ever happened to me, right up there with Pepper. I...I'm so glad I got to meet you. I'm so glad you showed up on that Youtube video...that I...that I got my shit together and figured out how to mentor you, even if I did a terrible job…"

"No." Peter shook his head, voice firm despite the tears. "You were the best mentor! And...and the best…" Peter swallowed hard, not finishing the sentence, but Tony practically heard the word anyway.

Father.

"You're the best," Peter finished.

"Yeah, well you're going to have to get me one of those 'World's Best Boss' mugs when you wake up, huh? Let everybody know how great I am."

Tony's voice had been teasing, but Peter's voice was soft. Solemn. "Everyone already knows how great you are."

Tony tightened his arms around the boy even as the kid's knees started to buckle. "Pete…"

"I could just stay here. If...If I'm going to die…"

"Pete…"

"Then I'd rather do it with you!" Peter finished stubbornly. Tony pulled away then, holding Peter's cheeks in his hands as the kid leaned against him. He was just a kid. Just a child. "I don't want to die alone."

"You won't be alone. And Pete...I have the best doctors here. Hell, Doctor Strange is one of the best in the world. He's practically a medical wizard." The joke got the desired laugh, and Tony knew that he'd always treasure that, despite the tears that accompanied it. "I love you, Peter. I love you like my own son. You...you mean everything to me, kid. And I wouldn't be asking you to do this if I didn't think it was our absolute best option."

Peter sniffed, bringing a weak hand up to swipe at his eyes, doing no good whatsoever.

"You are not going to be alone. I promise. I'm right here with you. Always. And...and when you wake up, I'm disabling that stupid protocol. Friday is going to tell me every time you leave your house now. I'm putting one of those trackers in your teeth so I can find you at all times. And I'm putting cameras in your apartment."

Peter snorted. "May won't let you."

"Who says May has to know? Snitches get stitches, Pete." He smiled, running a thumb under Peter's eyes. "We're going to that haunted house you've been dying to go to, and we're going to my new summer house in Malibu for the winter. Hell, we'll go to Europe over Christmas if you want. All of us. May and Happy and you and me and Pep. The whole family. The Avengers too if they want to come. It's going to be great, Pete." The words made goosebumps appear on his arms, hair raising in desperate anticipation. It had to be true. It all had to be true. He couldn't live with any other outcome.

After a moment of silence, the boy nodded, that familiar determination returning to his eyes. "Okay."

Tony smiled, forcing it despite the pain in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tony nodded then, gripping Peter's shoulders as the two straightened. "Okay. Good." He looked at Peter, looked him up and down. He wouldn't let himself forget. Not ever. No matter what. Turning to their bodies that were side by side, one in the bed and one in the chair, Tony felt his chest clench. He wasn't sending Peter to his death, he reminded himself. He was doing the best thing possible. There were only two options, and he didn't have time to figure out a third. So he led the boy over to their bodies, himself standing in front of the chair, and Peter in front of bed. "I love you, kid. And I'm right here."

"I love you too." Peter hesitated, leaning against the bed as though he were solid. As though nothing was really all that wrong. "Mr. Sark?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"If...if I don't…" Tony wanted to stop him, but he forced himself to remain silent. "Just...tell May. And Ned. And MJ. Just...tell them I loved them so much."

"I will."

"And tell Steve it wasn't his fault. And tell Sam thank you."

"You got it, Pete."

"And…" The boy spoke quickly. Desperately. "Tell Flash that I forgive him...that I know he was just...it doesn't matter. Tell him it's fine. And Happy...tell him I'm sorry I got on his nerves so much but that I really liked him a lot."

"I'll tell everyone," Tony agreed, nodding and crying and trying to stop. To look calm so that Peter would be calm.

"And...and...be okay."

That one stopped him cold, but Peter went on.

"Promise. Promise that you'll be okay. That you'll keep saving people and that you'll still be happy and...and have date nights with Pepper and maybe bring Ned down to the lab. He'd really love it."

Tony reached out a hand, and the words tasted like ashes on his tongue. "I'll be okay, Underoos. For you. I promise." The words had started as a lie, but looking into Peter's eyes, he realized it was true. He would do everything he could to be okay even if the worst happened...because Peter had asked him to. He'd do anything to honor the last wishes of the boy who was his son.

"Okay." Peter nodded, swallowing hard and squeezing his hand. "Okay."

"I love you, Pete."

"I love you too. And...and thank you. So much. For everything."

Tony wanted to tell him that there was nothing to thank him for. That it had been Peter that had brought so much joy to his life. That Tony was the lucky one here. But he just smiled. "It was my pleasure. Every bit of it." Peter smiled back, nodding and knowing without any more words being said.

It was time.

"We'll do it together. Okay, Pete?"

"Okay."

"On three?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." Tony squeezed his hand. "One."

He took a step closer to his body, and Peter did the same.

"Two."

He let go of Peter's hand and prayed that it wouldn't be the last time.

"I'll see you on the other side, Mr. Stark."

And then Tony stepped into his body.

_**Thanks for reading!** _


	9. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end has come! Thank you so much to everyone that has read and a HUGE thank you to my reviewers! I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and that you all stay safe and have a lovely day.

_September 20th: 11:02pm_

When Peter woke up, it was all at once. One moment, he was stepping into his body, the next, his eyes were open. He still felt tired. Still felt that full-body exhaustion. But there was something different. Something new. Last time, he'd woken up...he searched his memory, trying to remember. He'd woken up on the floor...as a ghost? And then in that hospital bed alone when Doctor Strange had come to talk to him. He'd cried in front of Mr. Stark, and Mr. Stark had cried in front of him. The man had told him that he loved him. That Peter was like his son. That getting back into his body was the best option. And so, trusting Mr. Stark, Peter had done it.

So...so it had worked? Or was he still out of his body?

No, Peter thought, staring at the ceiling and trying to summon the strength to move his head. He was inside his body because he felt heavy. Tethered. And his hand in particular was so heavy it was immovable. Taking one deep breath, and then another, Peter felt his lungs fill. Felt his chest expand and despite the pain in his throat, it felt amazing. Like he hadn't taken in a full breath in so long. Next, he blinked at the ceiling, twitching the fingers of his free hands. They opened and closed slowly, as if there was a delay, but he was able to move them.

Then, finally, he turned his head, just a little, to look to his side and find out what was holding his hand hostage. As it turned out, it wasn't a 'what.' It was a 'who.' Mr. Stark lay with his head next to Peter's, leaning over from a chair at Peter's side, both of his hands wrapped around Peter's. And Peter remembered that conversation. Remembered Mr. Stark's promise. That he wouldn't be alone. That he would be there the whole time. And, feeling tears spring to his eyes once more, this time solid and real in a way the others hadn't been, Peter squeezed Mr. Stark's hand.

He was alive. He was alive! The wonder of that thought made one of the tears spill over, then another, he tried to blink them back as he tried to wake Mr. Stark.

Gently at first, then with a little of his returning strength, Peter squeezed the hand in his until Mr. Stark grimaced in his sleep, turning his head a little and giving Peter a better view of his face. Smiling, Peter cleared his throat, wincing when that hurt but not caring very much. "Mr. Stark?" he asked, his voice raspy and weak. He tried again. "Mr. Stark?" The man grumbled and Peter choked out a painful laugh. "You promised me Europe, remember?"

That got his attention, and the man frowned in his sleep, then winched before blinking a few times. "What?" he whispered, jerking a little when he met Peter's eyes.

"I was thinking Rome but…" Peter's words died in his throat at the look Mr. Stark gave him. The man stared at him, awe and fear and hope warring in his eyes, lips trembling and eyes glistening with tears and Peter made himself smile, trying to look normal. "But Paris would be cool too."

The man nodded, swallowing hard before closing his eyes for a long moment, taking a shaky breath before leaning forward and wrapping his arms carefully around Peter, moving to sit on the bed beside him, then laying down so that he could hold him close. Peter fit perfectly in his arms and smiled into his shoulder. "Anywhere you want, Pete," Mr. Stark choked out. "Anywhere...god, kid…"

Peter clutched his hands into the back of Mr. Stark's shirt, taking a deep breath of the familiar comforting smell that he'd smelled so many times during so many quick hugs and so many lab days.

"You're okay?" Mr. Stark asked, and Peter nodded into the hug.

"I'm okay."

The man took a shuddering breath. "I thought...god, Pete, I thought…" He squeezed him a little harder. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"You can't get rid of me that easily," Peter teased, trying to stop crying, and the man gave an almost hysterical laugh.

"I came close. Pete...I came so close."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. None of it. And when I find the people that did this…"

"I don't think you can win against a sorcerer."

"Just watch me. They hurt my kid. I'll find a way."

For a long time, Peter lay there, encompassed in warm arms and the familiar scent and the temptation to go back to sleep was almost too strong. But someone was missing. He knew that his aunt tended to throw herself into her work to cope with grief. It was what she'd done when her grandmother had died, and again when her mom had gone back to Italy, and then again after Ben. But surely after he'd gotten back into his body, she would have come. "Where's May?"

Mr. Stark rubbed a thumb over his shoulder blade, the motion repetitive and gentle enough that he felt himself drifting closer and closer to sleep. "She was here for a few days but she left this morning for a double shift."

He frowned at that, looking up but not pulling away. Mr. Stark's eyes were closed and he was taking deep breaths, which seemed to be slowing his racing heart. "A few days?" he asked, too tired to sit up, so he just stayed where he was. It wasn't like he wanted to be anywhere else anyway.

"It's been three days...almost four, since...well, since Strange got here."

Peter's memories of that were a little fragmented, but they were there. He remembered meeting Doctor Strange and watching Mr. Stark step out of his own body and being so, so tired. It was all so strange. So...so impossible sounding. And...and Doctor Strange was a sorcerer?

Mr. Stark gave him one more squeeze, pressing a kiss to his hair just like he had before, then sat up, reaching over to the table beside him and grabbing his phone. "Fri? Have Happy pick up May and bring her here. And tell Strange and Cho. And the Avengers. But tell them no visitors until he's cleared."

"Mr. Stark? Did…" Peter wiped a hand over his eyes as he yawned, blinking heavily and struggling to open his eyes again. "Did you really go into to a store and buy a ouija board?"

The man barked out a laugh, nodding through tears that sprung to his eyes as he smiled down at Peter. "I sure did. The Infinite Bliss Spirit Haven. Great place. I'll take you some time."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "I'd rather go to Europe."

Mr. Stark was still chuckling when the door to his room opened, and Helen Cho and Doctor Strange stepped into the room. Helen wasn't quite able to put up a professional front as she exhaled in relief, moving over to his side and taking a look at his chart. "It's good to see you awake, Peter," she murmured, resting a light hand on his shoulder from the other side of his bed. Neither she nor Doctor Strange asked Mr. Stark to move, instead working around him as Doctor Strange checked the machines. There was still an IV in his arm, he realized, and he wondered if that was what was making him so sleepy.

"Do you know who I am?" Doctor Strange asked, looking up from the machines and picking up a tablet.

"Yeah...you said you were a sorcerer? Doctor Strange."

"Correct. Are you experiencing any dizziness? Pain?"

"No...I'm just kind of tired. But haven't I been asleep for a long time?"

"You were in a coma. It's very common to be tired after waking from a coma. I'd like to run some tests before you go back to sleep, and we can get you something to eat as well. Your advanced healing has sped up your recovery immensely in the last few days, but I'd still suggest at least another few days of bedrest." All of this was said quickly, almost absently, but not unkindly, and Peter nodded.

"Okay…"

"His aunt is on her way." Mr. Stark put in, ruffling his hair and leaving the hand on his neck.

"Why don't you update the others while we run a couple of tests and get him changed into some new clothes?" Helen suggested, although she didn't really phrase it as a question. Mr. Stark hesitated, the hand on the back of Peter's neck tightening just a little before he nodded.

"Right. Mind if I step out for a minute, Pete?"

Peter shook his head, and then the next hour or so was a whirlwind of being disconnected by several machines, being helped into a shower where he could sit down, which was a good thing because his legs felt like jello, helped into new clothes, and helped into a fresh bed with cool clean sheets, and then being asked by Doctor Strange to do everything from memorizing flashcards to solving simple algebra equations. The tests weren't too hard, even though it sometimes took his brain a moment to process things, and Doctor Strange assured him that this was a common side effect that would probably fade after a couple of days. By the time the tests were over, he felt drained, and he lay back against his pillow, not overly interested in a tray of food that the nurses brought in. Still, Doctor Strange sat in a chair across from him, and Peter was surprised that he was still here.

"It would be best for you to eat something before you go back to sleep," the man told him softly, looking up from his tablet.

Peter wanted to tell him that he was more tired than hungry, but this was the man that had basically saved his life, so he nodded and took a bite of the soup. "I, uh...I didn't get to thank you. For...well, for everything," he told the man after he'd taken a few bites. "I really appreciate it."

Stephen Strange regarded him for a moment before nodding. "Of course."

"Do you know who the bad sorcerers are?"

"I am having a colleague of mine follow some leads." Peter took another bite, then took a huge swallow of the water, both of which felt great on his sore throat. Still, he winced as he swallowed. "The soreness should go away soon. It was caused by the ventilator, which we were able to remove soon after your spirit was reunited with your body."

That sentence sounded so silly that Peter almost laughed, but of course, it was true. He'd lived it. So he just took another bite of the soup. Once he'd finished most of the bowl, he sat the spoon down, and as if he'd asked for help, Doctor Strange stood and took the tray away, rolling the table to the side and then, in a move that surprised him, pulled the blankets up to his chest. "You should sleep. Your body needs rest."

"I've been resting for days...wait...what day is it?"

"You already know that isn't the same thing. Today is the 20th of September," the doctor and sorcerer and who knew what else murmured, and Peter's eyes closed against his will as his bed started to recline.

"But May…"

"Your aunt will be here when you wake up. I'll let Stark know that you ate and are doing well. I'm sure the Avengers will be down to see you soon."

Doctor Strange might have said something else, but then Peter was asleep. Truly asleep, for the first time in what felt like a long time. He dreamed...nothing specific. Just swinging around the city and working in the lab. Sitting in class. And then listening to voices.

"You found them?"

"My associates have tracked them down and I have...dealt with them."

"Dealt with them?" That sounded like Mr. Stark, and Peter fought the urge to roll over or cover his head with a pillow. Maybe he was talking about something important. The other person sounded like Doctor Strange, and someone was sitting on the bed with him. May? Yes, he realized, her scent clicking in his brain. May. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until her scent was surrounding him, her fingers resting on his hair.

"In a manner of speaking."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever." He heard Mr. Stark let out a long breath. "Why did they target Peter?"

Doctor Strange hesitated for a long moment, then huffed softly. "Good morning, Mr. Parker."

Peter bit back a sigh and opened his eyes, smiling up at May who almost immediately started crying, reaching out and touching his face. "Hey, baby."

"Hi, May." He put his arms around her when she leaned down, her lips pressing into his hair, and for a long time she held him close, him being careful not to squeeze her too tightly. For the first time in what felt like a long time, he felt strong. Strong like he'd been before. Still, May pushed away after a moment, laughing through her tears, and he realized he might have been holding her too tightly. "Sorry,'" he muttered, but she was still smiling at him like he was the most amazing thing in the world.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, ignoring his apology and brushing some of his hair back.

Peter shrugged. "Fine. Not so tired anymore."

"I guess you aren't. You slept for almost twelve hours. It's 8:30. Tuesday morning."

Tuesday. He struggled to make that fit. Time had felt strange ever since he'd woken up outside of his body, and it didn't help that the last day he actually remembered being awake and in his body was Friday. Friday from almost two weeks ago. He'd missed almost two weeks of his life. It was strange and disorienting and the first words out of his mouth after realizing this were, "Did Ned get my homework?"

May pressed her lips together and gave a helpless sounding laugh as Mr. Stark moved over to sit in the chair by his bed. "Don't worry, kiddo. We'll get your homework." Peter had expected the man to tease him, but he left it at that, reaching out and resting a hand on his shoulder as if he just needed to be close. And then he thought about their last conversation...the one where they'd stood a few feet away, Peter crying in his arms, Mr. Stark crying into his hair. Peter asking him to tell May and everyone in his life that he loved them. Peter asking him to be okay.

And Mr. Stark agreeing to it all. Mr. Stark putting up a brave front despite the tears that kept falling.

And he got it. He got why Mr. Stark wanted to be close to him, because the thought of being away from May or Mr. Stark for long at the moment made him feel sick.

"So, other than 'not tired' and 'worried about homework,' how do you feel?" Mr. Stark pressed.

"I feel fine. Good. Hungry."

"I'll have one of the nurses bring you some food." Mr. Stark grabbed his phone, typing something, and while he was distracted, Peter turned to Doctor Strange. "Why did they come after me?"

Doctor Strange, who had been standing in the doorway, lifted an eyebrow and placed the tablet that had been in his hand onto the bedside table, moving around Mr. Stark who had looked up from his phone, eyes moving between the two of them. "I'd like to draw some blood and run a couple more tests. It would be best if we could get you out of bed and walking as well."

And before Peter could ask again, Doctor Strange was leaving the room, making space for Helen, who took some blood, and a nurse, who brought him a plate full of food. Neither May or Mr. Stark knew the answer to Peter's question, but before he could dwell on it, the Avengers were coming into his room, one or two at a time, with Steve and Sam coming in first. Steve wanted no time in leaning forward and wrapping Peter in a fierce hug, the words 'I'm so sorry,' so soft that Peter doubted anyone else heard them.

"Not your fault," he whispered back, shaking his head.

Sam was next, surprising Peter with a hug as a well. "Don't do that again, okay?" he asked, pulling back and ruffling Peter's hair.

"I mean...I'll try." Peter shrugged, giving a cheeky grin when Sam rolled his eyes.

The other came then, all with hugs and smiles and soft conversations with Mr. Stark and May, asking if Peter was doing all right. They all seemed tired and relieved and...light. As if they'd been living under a heavy burden and it had finally been lifted. Pepper pulled Mr. Stark out of the room and he promised to be back in a while as Wanda chatted with May and Vision with Peter, and Rhodey came too, carrying a teddy bear that Peter hugged tight, surprising himself when the feel of it, soft and solid in his arms, made his chest tight.

Helen and May were the ones that helped him out of bed, and although he'd been ordered to remain in bed for the majority of the day as his body and brain continued to heal, he also needed to get his muscles working again, so he walked around the room and leaned on May and wondered where Doctor Strange had run off to.

He got his answer that evening, after a day that had felt like a whirlwind, when Mr. Stark came back to his room. May had been sitting at his side, one of her hands holding his as he'd been texting Ned, a novel in her hands, when Mr. Stark appeared in the doorway. "Hey, kiddo. What did I miss?"

"Not much," Peter told him with a tired shrug. "Where's Doctor Strange?"

"Oh I see how it is." Mr. Stark grinned, approaching the bed and resting a hand on Peter's ankle. "The wonderful wizard saves your life one time and suddenly he's your favorite."

"You know that Thor's my favorite."

Mr. Stark snorted. "Which, I continue to insist, is ridiculous, as you have never met Thor."

Peter shrugged. "So?"

The man rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. "May, you want to get some sleep? It's been a day."

"That it has," she agreed, squeezing Peter's hand. Leaning in, she kissed his forehead. "Do you mind if I head to bed? I've got a shift tomorrow morning?"

"Which is ridiculous, by the way."

May snorted and Peter wished her a good night.

"You can always work for me."

"No thank you, Tony."

"I've got plenty of spots. I pay pretty well too!"

May paused in front of Mr. Stark, giving him a genuine smile and resting a hand on his shoulder. "Good night, Tony."

"Night, May."

Once she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her, Mr. Stark took a seat at Peter's bedside, taking up residence in the same chair. "How are you, Underoos?"

"Fine. Just tired. Which is dumb because I slept for forever."

"That you did." The man nodded. "Maybe tomorrow we can get you moved into your room upstairs. Probably more comfortable up there. Plus you'll have a TV to watch." Peter nodded, biting his lip before asking his question once more.

"Where did Doctor Strange go?"

"He's around. Still keeping an eye on your bloodwork. Told me it's looking good."

"Why did they come after me?"

Mr. Stark nodded to himself, as if he'd been expecting that question. "Strange told me it would probably be best if I didn't tell you." Peter just stared at him and the man snorted. "Then again, I don't work for Strange."

"And yet, I saved his life." The voice made the both of them jump, and the two looked up to find Stephen Strange standing inside a circle of light, arms crossed as he rolled his eyes.

"What the hell, Strange?" Mr. Stark demanded, sounding as exhausted as Peter felt.

"I should have known the man who couldn't keep his own secret identity a secret for more than a week would have trouble keeping any secrets."

"He's my kid," Mr. Stark said with a shrug. "And if this is going to happen again…"

"It won't. Peter is under my protection as well now, Stark."

"Wait...what?" Peter asked, butting in.

Stephen Strange regarded him for a moment, then stepped into the room, the circle of light dissolving behind him. "Something is coming, Peter. Something big. Or...rather, someone. A being that will pose a threat to this universe."

Peter swallowed hard, glancing over at Mr. Stark who stared grimly down at his own hands.

"Tony has seen him. In the wormhole. In New York. This being is on a mission to destroy life as we know it."

"Okay…" Peter's voice came out as a squeak, and he cleared his throat. "But...what does that have to do with me?"

"You are the thing that will bring the Avengers together. The thing that will make them a team once more. Earth's mightiest heroes. The only way we have a chance at survival, at defeating this being, is if we work together. Fight together. These rogue sorcerers, who wish to swear their allegiance to this being, knew that without Peter Parker, this fight cannot be won."

"I could have told you that," Mr. Stark broke in, ruffling Peter's hair and giving him a cheery smile that looked pained. "Kid's gonna be the best of us all. I already knew that."

"Mr. Stark…"

"Hey, this isn't something for you to stress out about, okay?" The man took his hand, squeezing it gently. "We're going to be fine. So you're very important to the survival of the universe. I could have guessed that." Mr. Stark shrugged and Peter choked out a laugh.

"I'm a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!"

"Tony is correct," Stephen Strange cut in, his expression almost kind. "You don't need to worry about this. Now that we know what's coming, we have time to prepare. Time to train and research. You played an important role in bringing the Avengers together, but we all will play important roles."

Peter nodded, staring down at his hand, which rested in Mr. Stark's.

"We will work together. All of us. The sorcerers from around the world and the Avengers and the mutants who study under Doctor Charles Xavier. All of us. And we will be victorious." Doctor Strange's voice was soft and sure, and he met Peter's eyes, giving a soft smile. "There is no reason to worry."

He was so sincere...so sure, that Peter almost believed him. So he nodded, and the man wished them both goodnight before leaving the room, taking the door this time.

"Mr. Stark…"

"You heard the wizard, Pete. Nothing to worry about." The man squeezed his hand, grabbing his tablet and placing it on Peter's lap. "Now pick a movie so you can fall asleep and droll on me."

Two years later, standing amongst the Avengers and the sorcerers and the Guardians, all of them on Titan, with the gauntlet in his hand, eyes glued to Thor as the Asguardian swung his axe and took off Thanos's head, Peter would remember that night...the assurance from Stephen Strange that they would make it through...that they would win, and he would shudder at the thought of how close they'd come to losing.

Mr. Stark would hurry to his side, flinching at the cut in Peter's side from where he'd shoved the older man out of the way, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Pete? You good, kiddo?"

"We won."

"Of course we did," Mr. Stark would say with a shaky grin, grabbing the gauntlet and tossing it to Stephen Strange who would approach to take the thing away...to put the Infinity Stones somewhere that they could never be used to hurt someone again.

And, tucking himself under Mr. Stark's arm, Peter would grin up at him. "That's why Thor's my favorite Avenger."

Mr. Stark would laugh, holding him close and pressing a quick kiss to his hair, showing just how afraid he'd been. "You're a little shit, you know that? I ought to leave you here."

"You wouldn't!"

"Don't test me, Spiderling."

**The End**

_**Thank you so so much for reading! I hoe you enjoyed!** _


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